


For the Fallen Ones

by notquitepunkrock



Series: And One Time... [9]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, Paramore, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blackmail, Brendon is lonely, Bullying, Depression, Emotional Manipulation, Eventual Happy Ending, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Is Gay, Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Jon is an ass, M/M, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Graphic Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Past Drug Use, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Pre-Slash, Recovery, Ryan is kinda scared, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Song lyrics for titles b/c I'm unoriginal, Spencer is sad, Suicidal Thoughts, Triggers, but not all of it is sad I swear, what's a bandom fic without lyrics though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-06-02 07:43:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 30,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6558106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notquitepunkrock/pseuds/notquitepunkrock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon is alone, or at least it feels that way. Ryan hates him, Spencer is avoiding everyone, and Dallon is in college. He's alone, and he's scared, and he hates it. He's not used to being this insecure and sad - it's scary.</p><p>Spencer is sad. After returning from his summer in rehab, he wants nothing more than to get through his junior year quietly. He just wishes it didn't mean avoiding his friends, the only people he considers family. </p><p>Ryan is scared. Jon is kind of mean, and he regrets what he did to Brendon, he really does. But that can't helped. Thank God for Hayley - he wouldn't be able to survive with out her.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <i>Part of my series 'verse, but may be read separately. Basic background info in notes.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. oh, memories, where'd you go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't supposed to be quite this sad, but I was listening to Hamilton, and Act 2 made me sad. Sorry. :/ ...Also sorry Jon's such an ass in this, I don't hate him, promise.
> 
>  
> 
>  _Background, in case you don't want to read the rest of this 'verse (I understand; there's a lot of it.)_  
>  The bands mentioned in the tags are in a massive friend group, Hayley left because of a misunderstanding and everyone is still upset over that. The summer before this fic, Ryan was influenced by his friend, Jon, to detach himself from Brendon, and Spencer overdosed on the medications he was addicted to on accident.

For the first time in his life, Brendon walked into school alone.

Okay, that may not have been entirely true - in preschool, he probably walked in alone, maybe clinging to his parents’ hands, but friendless nonetheless. No one from his family’s church went to his school then, his oldest siblings were from his father’s first marriage and in high school, and the other two were already in elementary school. Ever since he met Ryan on his first day, and then Spencer and Dallon, he would attach himself to one of them.

But today was the first day of his senior year, and Ryan wasn’t his friend. Ryan wasn’t his friend, and Dallon was a sophomore in college, and Spence had been avoiding him since his return from rehab, and Sarah was already at school. 

Brendon ducked his head and slipped into the crowd. “Find Sarah,” he mumbled, nodding his head firmly. He walked through the throng of reuniting teenagers, heading for their meeting place - in front of the back stairwell doors. Unfortunately, he never quite made it that far. Something, or someone, grabbed ahold of his upper arm and refusing to let go.

“Urie,” the person sneered, and Brendon swallowed the fear bubbling up in his throat. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Brendon plastered a smile onto his face and twisted to look at his captor. “Well, you know, Jon, we  _ have  _ been at the same school for the past four years,” he remarked sarcastically, scanner behind the taller boy for any sight of Ryan.

“You looking for Ross?” Jon asked, raising his eyebrows. “He’s not here yet this morning. I was going to wait until lunch to do this, but you’re all alone right now…” His grip tightened on Brendon’s arm and he pulled the shorter boy through the doors to the auditorium directly to their left. 

Brendon panicked as he began to hit, wriggling about to try and break the iron grip on his arm, but he was unsuccessful. One punch from Jon landed in his stomach, which roiled unpleasantly, and he let himself go almost limp. 

Jon hit him a few more times before he seemed to grow bored. He finally released Brendon, tossing him to the floor and hissing “pathetic” at him before he slipped out of the abandoned auditorium.

He laid on the ground in shock for a few minutes, before he sat up and leaned against the wall. He couldn’t quite believe it. Sure, Jon hadn’t always been the  _ greatest  _ of friends - he was rude, and condescending, and then he totally turned Ryan on him - but he had never  _ hurt  _ Brendon, not physically at least. Did Ryan know about this? Did he even care?

It was another few minutes before he was able to pick himself up off the floor and head to his first period economics class. He’d see Sarah then, and it would be fine. He’d come up with some excuse as to why he hadn’t met her, and things would be fine.

He hissed as he pushed the door open with his side and hit a newly formed bruise.

* * *

Brendon found a seat next to Josh upon arriving in first period, and plastered a large smile on his face when he saw the red-haired boy. By the time Sarah and Breezy showed up, the only seats were on the far side of the room. They settled in there with their purses and notebooks (actually being semi-prepared on the first day was one of their specialties), and Sarah raised her eyebrows curiously at him. Brendon shrugged, smiling apologetically and trying not to slink down into his seat.

“Hey Beebo, how was Disney World?” Josh asked, smiling cautiously and bringing up the shorter boy’s recent family vacation. Brendon decided to take the opportunity to chatter away happily about how one of his sisters had been knocked about in the wave pool at Typhoon Lagoon, trying to ignore how sore he was.

Ms. Blanchard entered the classroom as the bell rang, just as he had begun describing the wedgie he had gotten from the body slide. She clicked to the front of the room in her tall, shiny heels and called for attention.

“Welcome to Econ,” she announced, voice just stern enough to ensure that all eyes were on her. She waved a stack of papers in the air. “I hold the semester’s syllabus in my hands, but first, let’s take a moment to get to know each other. I want to know your full name, your best friend, and one thing that no one in this room knows about you. I will go first.” 

Brendon wasn’t listening to her introduction, nor anyone else as they went up and down the rows of desks. Sarah and Breezy were some of the first people to go, obviously citing each other as their best friends. He knew that neither of them, nor Josh, would try and come up with something no one knew - their friend group was pretty much no-holds-barred in terms of life stories. But best friend…

He was panicking a little. Last year he would have said Ryan, but now he didn’t have Ryan. He didn’t have anyone. Breezy has Sarah, and vice versa, Josh had Tyler, but Brendon… Who was his best friend? Did he even have one, or was he a loner-

Josh leaned across the aisle as the boy three seats in front of Brendon stood to say his piece. “What’s wrong?” he mumbled, eyes never leaving the front of the room. His mouth was turned down a bit in concern.

“Who’s my best friend?” Brendon asked, biting his lip as the person two rows up stood. 

“Dallon is, you idiot.” Josh grinned, and Brendon let out a sigh of relief. Right. Dal. How could he have forgotten Dal? “You got this,” he added, as the girl in front of Brendon sat down. He heaved to his feet, smiling jovially at the room at large.

“I’m Brendon Boyd Urie,” he grinned, bouncing on his toes and shoving his hands into his pockets. “My best friend is Dallon Weekes - he’s in college, which automatically makes him way cooler than everyone, ever. And, um,” he paused to tilt his head and think of a fact, wracking his brain quickly. “I really like the Beatles.” 

He dropped into his seat, grinning playfully at Josh’s rolled eyes. “Everyone knows that,” he muttered, tapping his foot as Ms. Blanchard’s eyes moved to the girl at the front of his row. 

“I was pressed for time, gimme a break,” Brendon shrugged, twisting his mechanical pencil - the only thing besides a folder that he had brought to school. He was lucky that it hadn’t been lost when Jon beat up on him, simply dropped to the floor of the auditorium. (He’d had to search under the seats for it, but it was easily retrieved, the pencil still clipped to the folder.)

The rest of class passed in a drone of students he didn’t particularly care about, a syllabus no one read, and his attempts to continue to act the part of class clown that he had worked at cultivating his entire school career. His next three classes - Guitar III, Precalculus, and AP Music Theory - passed in much the same way. In between classes, Brendon was constantly looking over his shoulder, eyes scanning for Jon or Ryan in the sea of students navigating the hallways.

Lunch was not an escape. Brendon practically ran to the courtyard, arriving right as Debby did. He didn’t bother to go to the cafeteria and get a lunch. The longer he was alone, the less safe he felt. He hurried to her side, and attached himself there, smiling brightly.

“Not eating today?” Debby asked, concerned.

Brendon shrugged, bouncing up onto his toes before falling into their spot under the tree. “Not hungry. Too many nerves. It’s my last first day, after all,” he lied, praying his stomach wouldn’t growl and give him away. Debby narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him - they had all become suspicious when someone avoided eating after Gerard’s eating disorder got bad. He smiled reassuringly and leaned over to steal some a Cheez-It from her in response.

As the others arrived at the tree, his eyes darted about, watching for Ryan, Jon, Hayley, or Spencer. He grew concerned when the younger boy didn’t appear within ten minutes, and looked around at his friends. “Anyone know where Spencer is?” he asked, glancing at the door he had come out of fifteen minutes before.

“No,” Tyler frowned, looking up from his sandwich. “He didn’t text you?” 

Brendon shook his head. “Has anyone heard from him since he got back?”no one replied, and his stomach twisted a little uneasily. He couldn’t lose Spencer too. He wouldn’t be able to survive. 

“I’m going to look for him real quick,” he said. Without really thinking about it, he found himself dusting off the seat of his pants as he stood up. “Maybe he got lost.” Everyone knew that was bullshit - their friends had been sitting under this tree since Lindsey’s sophomore year, Ray and Gerard’s freshman year - but they all agreed, brushing aside the thought that maybe he didn’t  _ want  _ to sit with them. Sarah and Breezy shot each other slightly guilty glances that he didn’t notice.

“We have fifth period together, right? Rodriguez in the portables?” Tyler asked, and Brendon nodded. “Great, gimme your stuff, I’ll give it back to you then if you don’t come back by the end of lunch.” 

Brendon handed over his folder and pencil and headed for the door, ignoring the tiny voice in his head that was chanting  _ bad idea, bad idea, bad idea  _ at him over and over. He was being ridiculous. He’d be fine.

He was not fine.

Brendon stopped in the bathroom in the science hallway, when he was cornered. He was bent down, peering under the door of the locked stall when he recognized the shoes there. But they didn’t belong to Spencer - they were Ryan’s. His breath caught in his throat, because he knew that wherever Ryan was, Jon was sure to be, and he straightened up to leave the bathroom quickly. Unfortunately, Jon chose that moment to exit the larger stall at the end. He locked eyes with Brendon and approached the sink, washing his hands slowly. The toilet in Ryan’s stall flushed and the door creaked open. Brendon felt like he was glued to his spot.

Jon dried his hands on his jeans and took a step closer. “Hey, Urie, fancy seeing you here,” he smiled.

Brendon swallowed hard, and smirked at him. “You know, you said the exact same thing this morning. You’re not very original, are you?” he said conversationally, trying to suppress the way his voice shook with each step that Jon took. Ryan looked a little nervous, gnawing on his lower lip as he washed his hands hurriedly.

“I just thought you’d know better than to be alone, after our… conversation this morning,” Jon shrugged, cracking his knuckles. If Brendon hadn’t been so scared, he would have laughed. This was like a scene straight out of a teen movie.

Instead, he forced out a strained chuckle, shrugging back. “Well, my teachers say I’m not very focused,” he replied. 

Jon’s grin grew, and Brendon took a step back, pressing himself against the wall. The taller boy looked almost feral like that. It was terrifying. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to make it…  _ sink in _ .”

“Okay, Umbridge,” Brendon said quickly, holding up his hands as a defense. “Let’s not get carried away he-” He was cut off by Jon’s fist connecting with his jaw.

“Fuck, okay, I didn’t see that coming,” he mumbled. Jon frowned and punched him again, harder. Brendon’s head snapped to the side, and he let out a low, pained groan.

“Shut the fuck up,” Jon hissed, nodding to Ryan. The other boy stood by the door, obviously keeping lookout as Jon beat on Brendon. It seemed like hours later that Brendon was left on the floor of the bathroom, alone, but it was probably only a few minutes. He dragged himself up with the help of the sink and decided that he really didn’t want to be at school that day. It was only the first day, and he was already done with this year. He wanted to graduate and get it over with.

* * *

Brendon wasn’t quite sure how he ended up at the door of Dallon’s dorm. He knocked hesitantly, quickly wiping at his eyes with the back of his shaking hands when it began to swing open.

“Hey, Matt, I told you, you don’t have to - oh. You’re not Matt.” The tall boy who opened the door, Dallon’s roommate, if Brendon remembered correctly, looked down at him with raised eyebrows and a slightly bemused smile.

“N-No, sorry,”  he mumbled, looking down and balling his fists in his pockets. “I’m Brendon? Dallon’s friend.”

Recognition colored the boy’s face, replaced by concern when he peered closer at Brendon’s face. “The high school kid, right? Aren’t you supposed to be in school? And, shit, what happened to your face?” 

“N-Never mind,” Brendon mumbled, starting to turn away.

The taller boy cursed under his breath and grabbed his arm. “No, come in, Dallon will kill me if I let you leave looking like this,” he said, tugging him back towards the room. “He has a class right now, but he should be back in like, twenty minutes? Just. Sit. Wait. Do you need anything? I’m Bryan, by the way.”

Brendon shook his head and dropped onto the bed that he was pretty sure belonged to Dal. Bryan looked at him with raised eyebrows. He held up a finger and slipped out the door, returning a few minutes later with a bag of ice. “Hold this to your face, it’s kind of fucked up. Dallon’s gonna freak, I can already tell he’s super protective. D’ya need me to call someone for you?” Brendon shook his head again, pressing the ice to his face.

“I’m okay,” he said shakily, directing the words at his lap. “Thank you.” 

Bryan looked like he wanted to say something else, but the door swung open and another guy barreled in. He waved a textbook in the air, before thrusting it towards Bryan. “I found it!” he announced, nodding to confirm his statement. “Next time, don’t leave your books in my room, you idiot.” 

Bryan rolled his eyes, taking the textbook from his hands. “Matt, this is Brendon, Dallon’s friend,” he said, nodding towards the boy on the bed. “Didn’t you just have a class with him?” 

Matt looked over at Brendon and tilted his head, concern flashing across his face. Brendon figured he must have looked pretty bad if everyone he met was concerned for him. Maybe he should leave before Dallon got there… “Dal should be back soon. I ran to give your book back, but he was walking with that Wentz guy.”

Brendon’s stomach clenched unpleasantly. Pete couldn’t see him like this. “C-Can you text Dallon and tell him not to bring Pete back here?” he muttered, hating how small he felt. He was supposed to be overconfident and cheerful, not insecure and quiet. What was  _ wrong  _ with him?

Bryan nodded, tugging his phone frm his pocket and typing quickly. “Hey, one of your friends is here, and he wants to talk to you alone, so don’t bring anyone back to the dorm,” he read, glancing up for Brendon’s nod of approval. A few seconds later, his phone dinged with a reply. “He said: ‘Okay, I’m almost there.’ Will you be okay alone for a couple minutes? Matt and I have some studying to do.”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he said, squaring his shoulders and flashing a bright smile. The two boys exchanged glances before they left the room and Brendon was alone. 

He pressed the ice to his face a little harder as the door shut, flinching a little when it was too harsh.  _ Alright, so my jaw is bruised. That’s not surprising,  _ he thought, adjusting the bag. With one hand, Brendon rubbed the back of his neck. It was cold, almost as cold as the bag was, and he couldn’t stop the shiver that ran down his spine. 

“You okay, Bren?” Dallon asked from the door, making him jump and blush from beneath the plastic bag obscuring his face. 

“Y-Yeah, I just, um,” Brendon stuttered, pulling the bag away and hissing as the warm air hit his cold skin. Dallon gasped and dropped his bag on the floor, hurrying to sit beside Brendon on the bed and inspect his face. The younger boy tried not to blush at the feather light touch of Dal’s fingertips on his cheek, but he seemed to be fighting a losing battle.

“What happened? Who did this?” Dal asked, thumb skimming over his cheekbone. Brendon flinched back at the jolt of pain he felt from the action, and Dallon smiled apologetically.

“It’s nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m fine. I just… couldn’t be at school. I didn’t mean to come here, I can leave, I just needed to be safe and I ended up here.”

Dallon’s face broke out into a grin. “You feel safe here?” he mumbled, so quiet that Brendon was pretty sure no one was supposed to hear him. His smile dropped in a moment however as Brendon hugged himself and winced as he squeezed right over a bruise on his torso. “Bren, talk to me,” he begged, gently running a hand through his hair. 

Brendon closed his eyes at the feeling, trying not to think about the fact that this was really not helping his (admittedly pathetic) crush on the older boy. “I will,” he promised, biting at the inside of his lip, which was raw from all the times he had attempted to keep from screaming as Jon hit him. “Just… not right now, okay? It was probably, you know, a one time thing.” 

Dallon nodded, though he didn’t seem convinced. He pulled the shorter boy into a quick hug before kicking off his shoes. “Okay, fine,” he sighed, running a hand through his “artfully” messy hair. “Wanna rewatch Harry Potter?” 

Brendon nodded, even though Dal was already reaching for his laptop, and kicked off his own shoes. He propped up pillows against the wall and leaned back against them, tugging the comforter over his legs. He only moved once Dallon had set the computer up on a TV dinner table, pulled up to the bed, and leaned back - just enough to lay his head on the older boy’s shoulder.

He felt safe like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic title from This is Gospel by Panic! at the Disco because I'm original.  
> Chapter title from Memories by Panic! because, again, originality.


	2. it's better to leave than to be replaced

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Nicotine by Panic! at the Disco
> 
> This chapter was supposed to be longer, but this felt like a good stopping place. Also, I changed my mind, I don't know for sure how many chapters this is going to take.

Spencer was skinner, frailer, paler. Despite what it may have done for him mentally (probably not much), rehab had done little for Spencer, physically. What it  _ had  _ done was change who he was.

He’d drifted through the first couple of weeks of school like a leaf blown along in the wind. Most people ignored him, the teachers were cautious around him, and he was avoiding anyone he used to call a friend. 

It was better that way, if not for him, then for them.

Debby and Jenna tried to talk to him in class, but he ignored them. He refused to look at them, sitting as far away from them as he could, and not daring to go near the courtyard for lunch. Putting them at a distance would make his parents happy, which he needed at the moment. Putting them at a distance would keep them from having to deal with the burden that he was. 

Jon didn’t seem to think so.

In the first few two weeks of school, Spencer had watched as Jon cornered Brendon in the hallway and after school. Mostly, Ryan was his lookout, making sure no one was coming. Though his heart ached for the older boy, he didn’t dare do anything, always scurrying away before  they could see him watching. 

Jon cornered him the first time in the third week of school, on Wednesday. (Spencer remembered because he’d poured a wine cooler down the sink that morning, hands shaking as he did so.) He pressed him up against the locker with his hand above his shoulder, leering down at him with a grin that was honestly terrifying. “Hey there, Spencer,” he said casually, tapping his fingers on the metal next to Spencer’s head. The shorter boy flinched involuntarily and Jon grinned a little wider. 

“H-Hi, Jon,” he mumbled, ducking under Jon’s arm. He moved to get away, looking to the ground as he walked, but Jon’s hand rested on his shoulder and prevented him from going any farther. 

“Where’re you going, man,” he smiled. Ryan appeared in front of him, steadfastly avoiding Spencer’s gaze. “I just wanna talk.”

Spencer swallowed hard, stiffening as Jon’s grip on his shoulder tightened. “I-I really have to get home,” he mumbled, letting his hair fall into his eyes. “I’m sort of grounded.” 

Jon nodded, smiling at him and sending a look to Ryan. The other boy shifted uncomfortably, twisting the end of his scarf between his fingers. “I guess you would be, huh? After that little mishap this summer, I mean.” 

“How did you know that?” he asked softly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. Spencer looked to Ryan, who gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head, eyes wide. Spencer felt almost relieved and a little surprised. Ryan hadn’t told him - then who had?

Jon’s smile grew feral. “I have my ways, little one,” he said, voice soft. Spencer flinched back violently enough to dislodge Jon’s hand from his shoulder. The taller boy looked confused for a moment, and Spencer used the opportunity to take off down the hall. By the time he reached the front of the school, his breathing was heavy and his muscles were screaming for mercy. It had been a long time since he had done any for of physical activity, really. His mother’s car was parked in the front parking lot. 

He slid into the passenger seat and shoved his backpack down by his feet, trying to catch his breath. His mother was tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, pursing her lips as she started the car. “Hi, Mom,” he breathed, running his fingers through his hair. 

“I told you to come right out after school,” she said, skipping right over the pleasantries and launching into the lecture. Spencer, who was still shaken up from his close encounter with Jon, felt like screaming. His fingers itched for a joint, but he pushed the thought from his head. “I told you not to dilly dally, and what did you do? You took your sweet time getting to the car. I’m going to have to stay late at work, now, I hope you’re happy.”

Spencer tried not to flinch at her cool, annoyed tone. “I’m sorry, Mom,” he said, trying to keep his voice from shaking, “I got held up talking to Mr. Rice about extra credit.”

That seemed to please her, as her tight grip on the steering wheel seemed to loosen just a bit. The rest of the ride home was tense, the only sound coming from the soft sounds of Christian Radio. It was enough to put Spencer’s teeth on edge, but he didn’t dare to say a word or - even worse - change the radio station. He didn’t want to run the risk of doing something wrong and being punished for it.

He waved his mother off with the assurance that he would finish all of his homework before getting on the computer, and then proceeded to do the exact opposite. Spencer paused at his bed, leaning down to grab a granola bar from the box stashed under his bed, and then settled at his computer, opening an incognito tab on Google and pulling up YouTube. When he found a playlist he wanted, he pressed play, rolling his eyes as an ad played before the music started.

“Tumblr,” he mumbled, opening another tab and taking a bite of his granola bar. The calming dark blue background made him smile a little, and he settled in to spend the next few hours scrolling through the never-ending series of nonsense. 

Something drew his eye to the top of his screen, and he froze when he realized it was a message notification. He clicked on it hesitantly, frowning when he saw it was from Tyler. 

_ smollest-trash-can: Spence where u at? _

He frowned, fingers hovering over the keyboard for a moment before he replied.

_ glitterteenwich: nowhere _

_ smollest-trash-can: yOu rEplIeD!!!!1!! _

_ glitterteenwich: i regret it already _

Spencer held back a smile. He wasn’t supposed to be doing this, talking to one of his old friends. He had promised himself he wouldn’t. But, really, what could be the harm of just talking to Tyler. Of anyone, he was probably Spencer’s safest bet.

_ smollest-trash-can: whtevr u love me. Where u been, we’re worried? _

_ glitterteenwich: fairly local, i mean, i’ve been around  _

_ smollest-trash-can: yeh ok whtevr but y is bden saying ur avoiding them @ school, and y havent u talked to anyone? sarah and breezy keep looking guilty whenevr we talk about about it whts up with that, r u ok? _

_ glitterteenwich: i’m fine i’ve just got to give u guys some space _

_ glitterteenwich: i mean y would u wanna be around me when any form of alcohol or drug makes me wanna relapse right tf now _

_ smollest-trash-can: r u kidding?? we’ve handled addiction before, spencer, we know what to do. we dont mind. we love you and want u to be okay _

_ glitterteenwich: i don’t know what that feels like anymore _

Spencer took that opportunity to leave the conversation, closing the tab. His hands were sweaty and shaking and tears were building up in his blue eyes. He shouldn’t have replied to Tyler. He’d said too much.

A car door slammed from the driveway, and Spencer muttered a curse under his breath. He leaned forward to close the YouTube tab, instead reaching over to turn on his radio and it’s stupid Southern Christian-whatever that his parents had determined was all he allowed to listen to. Apparently, the music he loved had contributed to his addiction, or some shit, and listening to parent-approved music would cleanse his soul and cure him, or something like that. 

Honestly, Christian music wasn’t even that  _ bad  _ but when he had no other options besides the occasional classical piece or listening to sermons all day, it was enough to drive him crazy. His parents had even sold his drumset while he was away, which had led to a huge arguement and his getting locked in the basement for a weekend. Food was served to him through a dog flap at the bottom of the door. It wasn’t that bad, the basement was finished and fairly cosy, but it sucked a lot. Spencer still missed his drums.

He hummed under his breath and pulled out a notebook so that when his father inevitably came to check up on him, he’d think he was studying. Sure enough, the door creaked open a few minutes later, and his father peered in, eyebrows raised.

“Hiya, Spence,” he said, trying for a casual tone. Spencer lifted his head from his notebook - U.S. History, if the names scrawled across the page meant anything - and smiled awkwardly. “How was your day?” 

Spencer shrugged, pressing his hand against the metal spiral that held his notebook together. “Okay,” he said. “School’s school.”  _ I was lowkey attacked and possibly hit on by my maybe-ex-best friend’s bully. _

“I remember,” his dad said amicably. “I’m gonna head to the store. Need anything?”

“I’m fine,” he replied.  _ A drink,  _ he thought. His father nodded, closing the door again. Spencer sighed, getting up to throw himself onto his bed. He stared up at the ceiling, mind racing as it thought about everything and nothing all at once. This was going to be a long year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want some fluff after all this, I just posted chapter one of a Peterick fic. It's fluffy. Promise.


	3. the world's a broken bone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is disgustingly short and I'm sorry.  
> Chapter title from Northern Downpour

Ryan’s hands were shaking so badly as he and Jon approached Brendon that he had to shove them in his pockets to make them stop. Even then, he could feel his heart trying to pound right out of his chest. He didn’t want this, he didn’t want this, he didn’t want this. Why couldn’t he stop this?

Jon smiled back at him, and he very nearly flinched away. Except, he didn’t, because he couldn’t. He was supposed to be Jon’s best friend now, and best friends aren’t scared of each other. He knew that because he had the real deal once, he had a real honest-to-god best friend once, but he didn’t anymore. Ryan lost that, because he was scared. He wanted to stop being scared.

Brendon didn’t see them coming, he was too busy smiling down at his phone. The group chat, Ryan would say if he had to guess. That was the special smile that only came out if the group chat was involved, one that started on the inside and bubbled up to his face until he wasn’t able to keep in his peals of laughter because the idiots are just so damn  _ funny  _ over messaging. Ryan remembered. He used to get that smile too.

“What’s got you so happy, Urine?” Jon asked, and Ryan dug his nails into the palm of his hand. The painful pinch of his skin brought him back to earth. He couldn’t believe he’d told Jon about that stupid nickname. It was different when friends said. Friends didn’t mean anything by it. By the looks of it, Brendon was thinking the same thing, as he tensed his shoulders and looked at Ryan with hurt in his brown eyes. “‘Zit a boyfriend, ya fag?” 

Ryan’s nose scrunched up, because that was just immature. Jon wasn’t even straight, why would he use it as an insult. 

“I’m not a cigarette,” Brendon said, voice wavering just a little. Ryan bit his lip to keep from laughing. 

“What?” Jon asked, frowning at Ryan. Ryan shrugged, but he knew exactly what Brendon meant. He wanted to give the smaller boy a thumbs up, but decided against it. It wouldn’t end well. “Fag means gay, idiot.”

Brendon’s eyes got comically wide, and he stared at Jon as if just learning this information. “But, I’m not gay - I’m bisexual. Let me assure you, there’s a difference.”

“That’s just something gay guys say to make them seem less gay,” Jon said, shaking his head, and ouch, that one hurt. Jon was a jerk a lot of the time, but he was also the only friend Brendon really had. There wasn’t much Ryan hadn’t told him at some point or another, and he had always been okay about him being bi. Always.

“Yeah, well, insulting people’s sexualities is just something straight guys do when they’re insecure about their own, so,” Brendon said, and Ryan winced at the loud slap that echoed the now-empty hallway as Jon’s hand came in contact with Brendon’s face. (Had the bell rung? When had the bell rung?) 

Brendon tried to fight back, he always did, but Jon was faster and stronger and hit harder. Ryan took a couple steps back, but Jon’s voice stopped him. “Come hold this bastard back,” he said through his teeth, eyes narrowed as a punch from Brendon came closer to his ear than he liked. 

Ryan jumped, stepping forward hesitantly. He huffed in a breath before he yanked Brendon’s arms back, gripping tightly and trying not to think about how awful this was. Every punch and kick from Jon cent shock through Brendon’s body that Ryan felt and he hated it. He hated it right up until Jon stopped punching and he had to drop Brendon and watch him crumple to the ground, tears streaming down his face. Ryan started to walk away, but Jon stopped, bending down to pick up Brendon’s phone, which had been dropped on the ground when Jon began to hit. He peered at it, turning on and reading the notifications on the screen before shrugging and tossing it towards Brendon. It landed on the ground hard and Ryan could already tell it would be shattered.

“Let’s go, Ry,” he said, putting a hand on his shoulder. Ryan followed him to the senior parking lot, where they proceeded to spend the next two hours very much not in class, and he tried to ignore the way Jon had to wipe Brendon’s blood from his knuckles with an old Wendy’s napkin.

* * *

 

A couple weeks later, Ryan made a decision that possibly changed his entire life. It was early October, leaves had just begun to fall in earnest and the weather was just starting to get cold enough to warrant a jacket, when he saw Hayley walking through the park by school. She was alone, and she looked sad, and it struck him as odder than it really should have. 

“You okay, Williams?” he asked on a whim, approaching her warily when he noticed the way her back stiffened at his voice. It came as a bit of a shock to him that she had heard about Brendon and Spencer, but at the same time, it didn’t. Hayley was observant, maybe more than she had a right to be.

He was surprised when she shook his hand. Ryan didn’t think she would ever want to be around him. He didn’t even want to be around him.

“This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” he joked when he took his hand back, eyebrows raised and a laugh that he wasn’t sure he meant on the edge of his voice. Hayley rolled her eyes, taking a few steps to restore the distance between them. Ryan let her, knowing that she was uncomfortable around boys. She always had been, except for when she wasn’t. 

“Don’t count on it, Ross,” she replied, shaking her head and playing with the hem of her jacket. There was a small smile on her lips, though, and Ryan dared to think that maybe she wanted to laugh.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Williams,” he smirked, and for the first time since that summer, he thought that maybe things would be okay, if only for a little while.


	4. i feel marooned in this body

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Trade Mistakes by Panic! at the Disco
> 
> This is so late I'm so sorry, please feel free to hate me because this sucks a lot

Brendon caught Debby’s eye from across the hall, and exchanged a wide-eyed stare. This couldn’t be happening - they had to be dreaming, right?

Hayley could not -  _ could not  _ \- be talking to Ryan. Did she really hate them that much? Brendon didn’t want to believe it, and the proof was making its way down the hallway as he watched.

Ryan was laughing quietly at something he had said, and the short girl rolled her eyes, shoving at his shoulder with a smirk. Though there was still at least a foot between the pair, it was much closer than Brendon had seen anyone get to the girl since… since whatever had happened at the Way’s house the previous school year. More than that, it was like she didn’t know what had happened with Ryan - or maybe, she just didn’t care. Brandon wasn’t sure which hurt more.

He watched with a slight frown as the two disappeared before he turned back to his locker, shoving his Economics notebook inside. Just as he slammed the door shut, Debby appeared at his side, brushing her copper colored curls out of her face. Her eyes remained trained on the the corner the pair had disappeared around for a moment as she bit her lower lip gently, but she seemed snap out of it quickly. 

“That was weird,” she muttered, falling into step beside him as they headed for the guitar room. 

Brendon nodded, glancing over his shoulder as if he could still see them walk by. “Very,” he agreed, fingers digging into the textbook tucked under his arm. His hip ached where the book dug in ever-so-slightly, pressing too hard into a bruise that he had forgotten existed. The feeling made him grit his teeth together, swallowing the bile that rose in his throat.

“Do you think she’s happy?” Debby’s voice was small, and Brendon almost missed it over the sounds of students chattering, rain hitting the windows, and shoes squeaking on the linoleum tiles beneath their feet. “I won’t care as much if she’s happy.” 

“I hope so,” he shrugged. Neither of the said another word as they drifted through the hallways. All too soon, they trudged down the front staircase that ended right beside the doors to the auditorium. Brendon’s stomach roiled uncomfortably as Debby reached out to pull them open. He hadn’t been back here since the first day of school, as today was the first that it was raining hard enough he didn’t want to brave the outdoor entrance to the guitar room. His hands shook at his side, but he steeled his nerves and followed Debby into the room.

His breath caught in his throat as they walked up the center aisle. Just over a month ago, he’d been beat up here. Just over a month ago, his life had suddenly spiraled into hell. 

Debby was oblivious to his distress, but she touched his shoulder gently in concern as they climbed the stairs to the stage. “You okay?” she asked, furrowing her eyebrows. 

Brendon smiled, though his voice cracked when he spoke. “I’m fine, just surprised I haven’t been in here recently,” he lied. Debby narrowed her eyes suspiciously. She glanced back into the audience, where a few of their classmates were making their way towards the stage, and pulled him along until they reached a door leading to the drama and guitar classrooms. 

“You’d tell us if you weren’t, right?” she muttered, brown eyes filled with concern. “You’d tell if something was wrong or someone was messing with you or something.” 

A moment of panic squeezed Brendon’s chest, because  _ shit she knew _ , but somehow the look on her face conveyed that she didn’t quite know what she was asking him. He managed a smile and nodded his head, pushing through the back door and practically bounding up the stairs to their class with a call of “Race ya!” over his shoulder. They emerged into the guitar room laughing, Debby shaking her hair from her face, and earned a few strange looks from their classmates.

Tyler rolled his eyes from where he sat at the back of the room, and leaned waved them over. “Always have to make an entrance, huh, Breadbin?” he asked as they approached. Brendon grinned as widely as he could, reaching up to grab his assigned guitar that was conveniently hung above his seat. 

“You know me, Ty,” he shrugged, plopping into his chair and strumming at the strings to check their tuning. “Gotta have that spotlight.”

“You’re such a diva,” Debby teased, dropping into her seat in front of him. Brendon rolled his eyes and paused in his tuning to pull out his music, the bell ringing and their teacher wandering in as he did so.

Guitar was one of Brendon’s favorite classes - their teacher, Mr. Presley, was really funny and nice, and the class was one of the most chill ones he’d ever taken. The class passed fairly quickly and he managed to not mess up too badly as they practiced, which made him feel a lot better. As they packed up their thing, Mr. Presley reminded the class about their first recital of the year. 

“How many of the nerds you think are gonna show?” Brendon asked, gently hanging his guitar (apparently named Hendrix) on the hook over his head. He ducked a little as he sat, avoiding a short girl’s arms as she put her instrument away and looked over at Tyler and Debby with raised eyebrows.

“Well, Josh and Jenna and Dallon’ll be there, obviously,” Tyler started, counting on his fingers and frowning in concentration. “Probably Patrick, Pete, Joe, Andy. Frank, maybe. Ray. Lindsey… you know, I’m gonna guess everyone, honestly.” 

Brendon nodded, standing up and tossing his bag over his shoulder as the bell rang. There was a rumble of thunder over the school as the class flooded towards the door to the auditorium, and he hugged the textbook in his arms a little closer as they joined the sea of upperclassmen rushing out the door. 

He stiffened as they made their way up the aisles of the auditorium, not quite able to get the sickening sound of Jon’s fist slamming into his side out of his head. Debby turned towards the right, heading to her English class, and Brendon spotted said bully over the crowd of people as he and Tyler waved her off.

Brendon turned back around quickly, heart pounding in his chest. He gripped Tyler’s elbow with one hand, turning the other boy around quickly and pushing him towards the staircase. 

“Bren, you okay?” Tyler asked, frowning at the way the other boy shoved up the stairs. 

“Fine, just wanna get to class, you know?” he mumbled, smiling brightly. From the corner of his eye, Brendon could see Jon pushing past people to climb the staircase. He pulled his friend a little faster. 

Tyler’s brown eyes filled with concern as Brendon squeezed between a pair of freshmen who had decided to block the landing as they had a conversation. “We have pre-calc next,” he reminded him slowly, almost jogging to keep up with the other boy. “You hate pre-calc. Everyone hates pre-calc.”

“Well maybe I just don’t want to be late,” Brendon said, perhaps a little harsher than he meant to. He paused halfway up the stairs between the second and third floors, frowning down at Tyler as he huffed and puffed his way up to him. Neither boy noticed Jon squeezing by until after he had kicked Brendon’s ankle, knocking the short boy over and sending him tumbling down the staircase with a yell.

He crashed against Tyler, falling into a heap on the landing with the younger boy. The stairwell was quiet for a moment until someone started to snicker at the scene. Soon most people were laughing behind their hands - a few ruder souls laughed outright, or had posted it on their Snapchat stories. Brendon lifted his head with a groan, glancing about and pulling himself to his feet. His entire body ached, and he was pretty sure he had crushed Tyler, who was bruised and bleeding.

“Hey, man, you okay?” he asked, holding a hand out to pull Tyler to his feet. Tyler nodded slowly, prodding at his arm which was already starting to turn black and blue in several places. He hauled himself to his feet with Brendon’s help, and rolled his shoulders under his backpack. “I’m so fucking sorry, oh my God.”

“It wasn’t your fault, someone tripped you,” Tyler assured him, as both boys slowly made their way up the stairs. Apparently, the rest of the students realized that there would be no further entertainment, and everyone began moving on, most of them rushing as the warning bell rang to signal one minute until fourth period began.

Tyler and Brendon limped into Precalculus just as the late bell rang, stumbling to their seats in the back corner by Josh and Sarah with awkward smiles. 

“What happened?” Josh asked, leaning forward to inspect the scrapes covering his boyfriend’s arms. 

“Brendon got tripped on the stairs and he fell onto me,” Tyler explained, frowning at the way Brendon was gently prodding at his ankle - it seemed to be swollen and looked extremely painful.

“Who did it?” Sarah asked softly, anger clear on her face. “Do I have to fight them?”

Tyler started to shrug, but Brendon answered her softly, voice a little broken. “Jon Walker,” he mumbled, wincing as Sarah gently poked his ankle. “Don’t fight him, Sar, he’d crush you.”

“I could take him,” she whispered as Mrs. Teaman hurried into the room. 

“Sorry, I’m late, there was a holdup on the stairs- Oh my goodness, what happened to you two?” she said, stopping when she saw Tyler and Brendon smiling up at her and looking for all the world like they had just been in a brutal fistfight. The rest of the class turned to stare at them, and Brendon could see Tyler blushing as all the attention focused on them.

“It’s nothing, Ms. T,” he assured the woman, even as set his foot on the ground and flinched at the pain that shot up his leg. “We just fell really badly, that’s all.”

Mrs. Teaman bustled closer, blonde bun bouncing with each step she took. She peered down at the two boys once she reached them and shook her head, looking around for a piece of paper. “Joshua, Sarah, please accompany Tyler and Brendon to the nurse’s office - don’t argue Mr. Urie, your ankle looks like it’s at least sprained,” she said, taking a sheet that Sarah offered. She leaned over to write a pass on it, raising her eyebrows as the four students carefully gathered their things. When she was done, she handed the paper back to Sarah with a flourish and a smile, stopping to hold the door open for them as they walked (or limped in the case of Brendon and Tyler) out of the room. 

* * *

“Who tripped you?” Lindsey’s voice was gentle, but Brendon had known her long enough to know that she was livid.

“Linds, it was an accident,” he tried, resisting the urge to bounce his knee. The movement would not help the pain that shot through his ankle with every bump in the road. Lindsey was driving slowly and carefully as possible, but this car felt every single change in the terrain.

“Don’t give me that bull,” she mumbled, fingers tapping her steering wheel as they stopped for a red light. “Dallon told me he thinks you’re getting beat up. So who tripped you, Brendon?” 

“It’s nothing you need to worry about,” Brendon assured her, twisting his fingers together. He had known this was coming the minute the nurse said they couldn’t get ahold of his parents and were calling his first emergency contact (Lindsey) to pick him up. He just didn’t want to have the conversation.

“I’m driving you to Urgent Care because some asshole tripped you and you sprained your fucking ankle, and you fucked up your arm, and you’ve got bruises  _ everywhere _ ,” she hissed, pressing on the gas maybe a  _ little  _ harder than was really necessary. “Fuck yes, I need to worry about it. Tell me who did this to you. Now.”

Brendon shook his head, avoiding Lindsey’s eyes. She let out a huff of breath and flicked on the turn signal, turning a little too quickly into the parking lot for the clinic. Once she was parked, she turned the car off, but didn’t make any move to get out. When Brendon finally glanced back over, Lindsey’s arms were crossed on the steering wheel, forehead resting on them gently.

“I’m just worried about you, Beebo,” she said softly, looking up at him with concern. “You’re like my brother, not just you, but all of you, and I hate that something’s wrong and you won’t tell me  _ what. _ ” 

“It’s… It’s really nothing Linds,” he mumbled, not able to look back at the woman without wanting to cry. He swallowed hard, guilt clogging his throat as he lied. Lindsey sighed, and nodded. 

“I guess I’m gonna have to trust you on this,” she mumbled, before shoving her door open and walking around to the passenger side to help Brendon out of her truck.


	5. all you sinners stand up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry sorry sorry sorry  
> Also this is supposed to be like the Wednesday after Brendon and Tyler fell down the stairs, so like about two days later.
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter title from Hallelujah by Panic! at the Disco

Spencer’s head was spinning a little. His hands shook as he fought with his earbuds, desperately trying to untangle them before Brendon could walk over to his spot on the far edge of the hallway. If he looked uninterested, annoyed,  and closed off, Brendon would leave him alone. He just wanted to be left alone. 

(That was one of the most bold-faced lies he’d ever told, but it was a good enough excuse for Spencer.)

Unfortunately, the knot in his headphones wouldn’t cooperate. 

At the last minute, despite Brendon’s clear determination to reach Spencer, Tyler appeared and pulled him aside. If Spencer wasn’t just seeing things, Tyler nodded briefly at him, telling him to go - fast. He didn’t need to be told twice, almost immediately shoving his earbuds into his pockets and taking off down the hallway. He squeezed between students until he’d disappeared down the stairs and was almost to the main doors. Brendon definitely wouldn’t be able to catch, not with his crutches inhibiting every step he took. Thank God school was out for the day.

As always, Spencer’s mother was waiting for him in front parking lot, offering no conversation but sending a small smile his way as he dropped into the passenger seat. The silence in the car was uncomfortable, almost unnatural. He hated it. It wasn’t until his mother turned into their neighborhood that she said a word to him.

“Your father and I are both working late tonight,” she informed him, voice gentler than Spencer really expected. “There’s a frozen pizza and leftovers in the fridge. Please be in bed by the time we get home. Other than that, you know the rules. Break them, and there will be consequences.” 

The threat was subtle - there was only the tap of her manicured nails on the steering where and the tight-lipped smile she sent his way to indicate it. Spencer knew what she meant, though. .There will be consequences’ meant  _ ‘behave, or it’s the basement.’ _

_ ‘Behave or you’ll get half-servings for a week.’ _

_ ‘Behave or we’ll burn your journal again.’ _

“Yes ma’am,” he promised, gritting his teeth together at the very thought of punishment. He would be good, an angel, really. He had to be.

His mother’s face softened and she smiled lightly at him. “We love you, Spence,” she said, parking the car in their driveway. “We only want what’s best for you.”

With that, she opened her door, Spencer’s cue to climb out of the car and follow her to the house. Once he was inside, she locked him in with a final-seeming click of the deadbolt, taking one of the two house keys they had with her as she returned to the car. Spencer was officially alone and stuck at home. 

He made his way to his bedroom just long enough to drop his backpack and grab a few CDs from where he’d managed to stash a few inside of his bed, before his parents went through his room and threw most of them out. Once he had them, Spencer went back downstairs, stopping in the living room to fill the five-disc player and crank up the volume. 

“Food? Food,” he told himself decisively, going into the kitchen to make a snack. In the pantry he uncovered a box of popcorn that had to be at least three months old. “Is this still good?” he wondered aloud for a moment, before placing a bag on the counter and tugging his phone from his pocket.

He could text someone, ask them if three month old popcorn was safe to eat. “Just to make sure I’m not poisoning myself,” he asserted, finding Ray’s kik. “Then it’s back to radio silence. I swear.”

 

**_ssmith:_ ** _ hey Ray, is popcorn safe to eat if its been in your pantry for 3mnths? _

**_Rayoffcknsunshine:_ ** _ Shit yea I think so if it’s still in the bag and stuff _

**_Rayoffckinsunshine:_ ** _ waIT SPENCER HI _

**_ssmith:_ ** _ hi _

**_ssmith:_ ** _ so if i found a random box of popcorn bags in my pantry from like before school started it SHOULD be safe to eat??? _

**_Rayoffcknsunshine:_ ** _ Hypothetically yes. _

**_ssmith:_ ** _ sweet thxbye _

**_Rayoffcknsunshine:_ ** _ SPENCER W A I T _

_ ~your message has been delivered to  _ **_ssmith_ ** _ ~ _

 

Spencer put the bag of popcorn in the microwave, hopping up onto the counter to wait for it to pop. He hummed along with the music pumping from the living room speakers, kicking his feet in time with the beat. After a few seconds, his hands began to tap on his legs, and by the time the next song started, he had reached into a jar on the counter beside him and pulled out two wooden spoons to use as drumsticks.

The popcorn nearly burned as he drummed away on the countertop, but Spencer noticed the popping had slowed just in time. He pulled the bag from the microwave with his fingertips, wincing as it burned his fingers. Very carefully, Spencer pulled the bag open and poured it into a large bowl, carrying said bowl into the living room and plopping onto the couch. He absentmindedly ate the popcorn with his feet propped up on the coffee table, then leaned forward to hit the power button on the TV and Wii remotes. 

By the time he had come back from rehab, Spencer’s parents had gotten rid of his Xbox and all of his games for it, as long as most of his games for his Wii - a console that had been mostly untouched for years, even though he had gotten a WiiU for Christmas shortly after it came out. The only video games that had survived the purge were varying Mario games, most of which he had already completed four times over. Super Mario 3D Land was the only one he had not yet finished, but he was determined to do eventually, throwing himself into it with the same type of conviction he’d previously had to getting himself blackout drunk.

“You have an addictive personality,” he remembered his therapist, Dr. Mince, explaining at one point, when his mother had brought up her worry over his recently acquired Mario obsession before a session. “It used to manifest itself in harmful substances, but we’ve been working on eliminating those. Video games cause your adrenaline levels to rise in a fairly safe, yet addictive way. As long as it doesn’t overtake your life, I see no reason why you should be negatively affected. Of course, your parents will have to monitor your usage, but I would even encourage playing games to relieve your stress.”

Dr. Mince had a habit of directing things toward Spencer rather than his parents, even as his mother sat at his side. While it infuriated them, it was one of the reasons his didn’t protest too much to going back to her. She made him feel less like a fucked up kid, and more like a regular, good person who had just made some mistakes.

Spencer threw himself into the world of Mario and music, playing for far too long. He’d shifted himself so he was lounging on the couch to play, only sitting up to attempt particularly difficult levels, but eventually, he fell asleep. His “illicit” music was still blasting from the stereo, a controller was still in his hand with Mario on the TV, and popcorn kernels littered the area surrounding him.

Falling asleep was his mistake.

He didn’t notice when his parents came home and found him in the living room, anger forming like a mask when they discovered how their son had spent his time alone. He didn’t notice his mother kneeling on the floor to scrape up the popcorn kernels in the carpet with a frown on her face. He didn’t notice her flipping through the CD cases he’d left by the stereo, face eerily calm as she observed just what he’d been hiding from them. 

He did notice his father shaking him awake, face stony and eyes hard. “Mario, popcorn, and this crap?” he said angrily, holding up an offending CD case like they had just discovered a bag of weed hidden in his room. (Spencer knew what that looked like, unfortunately.) “We thought you were better than this, Spencer.”

Spencer flinched, hanging his head. “I’m sorry, sir,” he muttered, sitting on his hands. His head hurt and the light that his mother had flicked on was too bright. He had to resisted the urge to close his eyes against the brightness.

“You should be,” he growled, standing up and crossing his arms. “We do everything for you - we don’t  _ have  _ to send you to doctors to pick up the mess you made of yourself. And this is how you repay us?” 

“I know, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again,” he promised, biting hard on his lower lip. He just wanted them to punish him and get it over with so he could disappear back to his room and sleep.

His mother laid a gentle hand on his father’s shoulder and the man stepped back, taking the discs they had removed from the player and disappearing into the backyard. Spencer didn’t want to know what would happen to them. His mother looked disappointed, standing over him in a way that made him feel like he was three years old and had been caught drawing on the walls again. 

“We’ll have to ground you this weekend,” she said, sounding saddened by the thought. “I think some time in the basement will ensure this doesn’t happen again, won’t it?” Spencer was quick to agree, nodding quickly and looking up as he blinked tears from his eyes. He  _ hated  _ the basement. A lot.

She nodded firmly, and pointed to the staircase. “Go get your laptop and your phone, leave them on the kitchen table. I’ll be going through them, of course. Then go to bed,” she told him. Spencer nodded again and made to head for the staircase when she stopped him with a hand on his shoulder that was perhaps a little  _ too  _ heavy and cold. “You know I hate to punish you, don’t you, sweetheart. It’s for your own good, it really is.”

“Yes ma’am, I know. I’m sorry,” he mumbled, swallowing the ball of guilt that had formed in his throat. 

“I know you are,” she smiled, and nodded to the staircase. Spencer resisted the urge to run up it, hating the way his legs shook with each step he took. Once he reached his room and gathered his phone and laptop into his arms, he was working not to start crying. He couldn’t believe he had been so stupid. He wasn’t supposed to get caught. It wasn’t supposed to end up like this. 


	6. caricature of intimacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops it was longer than I meant for it to be. Anyway... this chapter takes the same night as the last one, and then the following day. 
> 
> Warnings for discussions of past rape and sexual abuse, manipulation, and references to underage drug use and sex. Nothing explicit, at least partially because I am a smol asexual just trying to survive.
> 
> Chapter title from Build God, Then We'll Talk by Panic! at the Disco

Sometimes, Ryan forgot about the beating people up and the bad mouthing of innocent people and the two-facedness that Jon typically engaged in. Those were the dangerous moments, the ones in which he could get things out of Ryan, things that he never wanted to tell anyone, things that he could use against him.

Things that Brendon would have known, probably did know. 

(Ryan tried to forget that part.)

The  _ worst  _ times, though, were times like now, when Jon knew he was lonely, knew he was sad, and grinned at him from across his bedroom, which was hazy with smoke. His eyes were half-lidded, and he’d reached out and made grabby hands, like a small child wanting to be picked up. “Come here,” he said, catching Ryan’s wrist once he got close enough and pulling him onto his bed with him. He pressed their lips together, and stupidly, Ryan melted into it, wanted it, because he was high and lonely and he needed  _ something _ .

Later, they were both pulling their clothes back on, fumbling in the dark to redo zippers and buttons and tie shoes, and Jon had him cornered. “You’ve got to do this shit for me,” he explained, his voice soft and almost-gentle, with just a hint of an edge. He sounded apologetic, like it  _ hurt _ to tell Ryan this. “It’s only fair, isn’t it?”

This was, it  _ was  _ fair. Jon messed around with him, gave him companionship and someone who cared. Doing as the boy asked was just fair payment, essentially. 

Ryan nodded, finally getting his shoe tied properly, or at least properly enough that he could walk home without his shoe sliding off his foot. “Yeah, you’re right,” he agreed, getting to his feet. He wasn’t as high anymore, nearly sober, really, and walking home is the cold autumn night would probably sober him up the rest of the way. “I’m gonna head out - Mom wants me home to watch my siblings tonight - she’s got a class.” 

Jon nodded, eyebrows raised as Ryan tugged his jacket on and started for the door. He stopped halfway there and half-turned, biting on his lip for a moment and looking a little uncomfortable, before he spoke. “Hey, um, thanks,” he mumbled, wincing as he tore some of the skin from his lip and it started to bleed. 

“You’re welcome, Ry,” Jon said offhandedly, as if he wasn’t paying any attention. Ryan turned away before he could assern whether or not he was.

He half-jogged, half-walked home that night, eyes trained on the ground and trying not to wince at how sore he was. He’d be fine. He always was.

* * *

Hayley glared at Ryan from beneath her bright orange bangs. “You didn’t answer my texts last night,” she accused him. Ryan blinked in surprise. He hadn’t expected to find the girl standing on his front porch, face red and breathing heavy. Her backpack hung from her shoulder, nearly falling to the ground.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, glancing into the house over his shoulder. His younger sister was sitting in front of the TV with her cereal bowl, watching some cartoon, but if she happened to look up, she would see Ryan standing in the foyer with the door open. And then she would ask him questions that he didn’t feel like answering.

Hayley rolled her eyes, huffing and leaning against the doorframe. Her casual expression dropped for a moment, but returned just as quickly it had disappeared. Ryan sighed dramatically, and held up a finger, closing the front door on her and stepping into the living room. 

“Juls. Juls. Juliette,” he said, trying to get the younger girl’s attention. At her full name, she finally looked up, raising her eyebrows at him with her spoon halfway to her mouth.

“Wha?” she asked, hurriedly swallowing her the cereal in her mouth. 

“I’m heading to school, okay? Tell Mom I’m grabbing breakfast on the way,” he said. Juliette nodded, then returned her attention to the television. Ryan took that as a dismissal and turned back to the front door, pausing at the coat closet to put on his jacket and grab his backpack. 

When he opened the door again, Hayley was sitting stairs to the porch, holding her phone with a white-knuckled grip and staring down the street. She looked up when she heard the door creaking open, watching Ryan fumbling with his key for a moment before he got it locked. He stepped past her, heading for the street, where his car was parked at the curb. He got halfway across the yard before he realized Hayley was still sitting on the porch, just watching him in confusion. He crossed his arms, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

“Well, Williams?” he called. “You coming, or not?” 

Hayley frowned and stood up, grabbing her bag from beside her and hurrying to Ryan’s side. “What do you mean?” she asked as he led her to his car.

“I’m giving you a ride to school, idiot,” he said rolling his eyes. Hayley continued to stare at him in confusion, prompting him to roll his eyes and shove her towards the passenger door. “Look, I told my family I was picking up food on the way to school, so get in the car and let’s go to McDonald’s. I’ll buy.”

She stared at him for a few more seconds before finally shrugging and opening the door, dropping into the passenger seat. Ryan started the car and pulled away from the house, heading for the McDonald’s near his neighborhood. 

“So, why were you all out of breath?” he asked as Hayley reached over to turn up the heat. She jumped a little, and he noticed the grip she had on her phone getting tighter. Ryan couldn’t help but feel a little concerned for the sophomore. 

Hayley shrugged a little, wrapping her arms around her waist. She stared out the window for a moment before turning back to Ryan. “If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone,” she began, staring at a spot just above his head. Ryan glanced away from the road just long enough to see that she was serious. 

“Okay, okay, I promise,” he said, raising his eyebrows. He didn’t know what could be so important, but he’d humor her.

“I’m serious, Ross,” she said, her voice taking a steely, threatening tone. “It can’t leave this car. You can’t tell Jon Walker. I don’t even want to talk about it, unless  _ I’m  _ the one who brings it up. Okay?”

“I promise, it’ll stay between us,” Ryan said seriously.

Hayley took a deep breath, and pulled her backpack into her lap. She hugged it tightly to her chest, as if it was a shield from the rest of the world, from Ryan. “When I was little, my uncle raped me,” she said softly, closing her eyes tightly as the words seemed to resonate in the small car. “It started when I was five, he’d take me to his room to play ‘games’ and kiss me and by the time I was eight it had…it had escalated. I was little, and I didn’t know what was going on, I just knew that it hurt and felt bad and gross and I didn’t like it. He threatened to kill my mom and sisters if I told, so I kept quiet. The reason I ran out of Mikey and Gee’s house, when Lindsey called me a whore, is ‘cause  _ he  _ said it all the time. It… it brought back memories and I couldn’t… it just hurt too much, you know?”

Hayley laughed humorlessly, a few tears slipping out of her eyes, even though they were tightly closed. “I was nine when Mom found out - she walked in on him. He’d covered my mouth so I couldn’t scream, but mom came upstairs to check on me and caught him in the act. He’s in jail now. Sometimes, like this morning, I get uncomfortable walking alone - feels like he’s somewhere behind me, waiting to strike. I was supposed to walking to school, but I ran to your house instead. It was stupid, but… I felt safe? Sorry.”

Ryan’s knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel. Hayley had gone through all of this alone. “Did you tell anyone?” he asked, voice tight. He would not cry. Only wimps cried, and anyway, he didn’t have the right to cry for her. He hadn’t had that right in years.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Ash - Halsey - knew, before she moved, ‘cause she and Lindsey knew everything, and obviously Lindsey knew. I think maybe Ray and Gerard did too, because you know how they were with everyone. But I never  _ told  _ anyone.” 

“You went through all that alone,” Ryan said. It wasn’t a question, not by any means. It was just a statement of fact. He wondered if she had to testify against her uncle. He wondered if she had been alone then, not a single one of their old friends watching to help her through it. Hayley nodded. As he pulled into the drive-through at McDonald’s, her tears began to subside, and they were gone by the time she took a bite of her bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit.

“I know it’s awful for me, but it’s so damn good,” she groaned around the sandwich. Ryan rolled his eyes and used one hand to eat his McGriddle.

“Okay, Williams,” he said, amusement coloring his tone just a bit. “Don’t get crumbs all over my car. It doesn’t look good when I’m taking someone home.”

Hayley rolled her eyes. “I make no promises, Ross,” she smirked, and made sure that her next bite had crumbs falling into the seat. She grinned as his face contorted in annoyance, and stuck her tongue out. “Oops,” she laughed.

Ryan rolled his eyes again, and flipped on his turn signal, waiting in the long line of cars trying to get into the parking lot. “Yeah, whatever,” he sighed, pulling forward slowly. “Drink your coffee and shut up.”

“You love me,” she joked, taking a sip of her mocha nonetheless. More crumbs fell into the seat as she moved her sandwich away from her face. Ryan did not look forward to vacuuming the passenger side out, but it seemed that it have to be done if Hayley was going to keep riding with him. 

“You wish,” he scoffed, sighing in relief as they finally pulled in the gates. He turned the car towards the senior’s lot, heading for his favorite parking space in the front corner. It was always empty, as the spot was small and awkwardly situated, but his car fit perfectly. Once the car was parked, the pair finished their sandwiches in companionable silence, throwing their trash into the empty McDonald’s bag when they were done.

Ryan climbed out of the car, grabbing his iced coffee, his backpack, and the bag of trash, and waited for Hayley to clamber out. Her tears had long since dried, and she had touched up her make-up while waiting for Ryan to finish her sandwich, but something just didn’t sit right with Ryan. He was worried about her, as much as he was loathe to admit it.

It bothered him the entire rest of the day, but he came up with a plan on the drive to Jon’s house after school

* * *

 

Before he went to bed that night, he sent a text to Hayley.

**Text Sent: Oct 12, 11:36 PM**

**To: Williams**

_ need a ride 2morro? yes? good, im ur ride. cya then _


	7. he was just hangin' around, when he fell in love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is short and pathetic but there's some Brallon fluff so that's a good thing?? Also sorry my updates get soooo s l o w during the summer, which is dumb because I have MORE time to write but who said I make sense?
> 
> They're only watching musicals because I have had "(The Legend of) Miss Baltimore Crabs" stuck in my head and I am Mamma Mia trash lol sorrynotsorry.
> 
> Chapter title from When the Day Met the Night (my first panic! song lol)

Brendon bounced on his toes, scanning the front parking lot for Andy’s van. Said boy was supposed to pick him and his friends up to head to Gee, Mikey, Ray, and Frank’s place, but what if he forgot? What if he didn’t make enough room, and everyone else got to ride but they left him? What if he missed everyone leaving? What if-

Josh tugged on his sleeve, pointing towards to a van that was just coming through the gate. “There he is,” he grinned, slipping his hand into Tyler’s and leading the pack. 

Debby and Jenna, Tyler and Josh slid into the van first, squeezing into the back row. Brendon hovered uncertainly at the open back door, watching his friends as they fell into a pile with each other, as if it were as natural as breathing. They didn’t really need him.

Sarah stepped up beside him, inspecting his face. Her eyes darted between their four friends and him for a moment before comprehension flickered across them. “Bren, come on,” she said gently, tossing her bag into the front row of seats. She pushed him in behind the bag and maneuvered his crutches so they were half laying across his lap, before crawling in after and sliding the door shut. Andy sent her a worried glance, raising his eyes at Brendon, but she waved him off.

The small girl leaned forward to whisper into Andy’s ear. Brendon could hear her, though, as she was awful at whispering. “Don’t worry, he’ll be okay,” she said, smiling comfortingly. “He’s got me and Dal to watch out for him.”

Brendon frowned a little - he wasn’t a little kid who needed to be taken care of all the time. But then he realized… “Dallon’s gonna be there?” he asked, grinning brightly and leaning forward in his seat. Sarah giggled and Andy snorted, and probably rolling his eyes behind his dark sunglasses.

“Unless you can think of anywhere else he’d be on a Friday night,” he confirmed with a small grin.

Brendon shrugged. “He might have other friends at school,” he pointed out. “How would I know?”

“You know everything about Dallon,” Sarah smiled. “And he knows everything about you. Which would surprise no one, because he’s  _ always  _ talking about you.”

Andy giggled a little as he flipped on his left turn signal. “You should have seen him when Lindsey called to say that you’d sprained your ankle,” he added. “He looked like he wanted to head to the clinic himself to make sure it wasn’t worse than that.”

Brendon felt his face heating up. “He’s not  _ always  _ like that,” he protested, even though he had to keep a small, self-indulged smile off of his face. As he said this, Andy had to slam on his break, hissing a curse under his breath as another driver ran the stop sign at the intersection they were about to go through. He slammed against his seatbelt, the fabric digging into his bruised stomach and chest, and Brendon had to spitting out a curse himself. 

“ _ Dal doesn’t know everything about me _ ,” he reminded himself, thinking of the sneer on Jon’s face right before his foot made one of the particularly painful bruises.

“Everyone okay?” Andy asked, looking worriedly over his shoulder. The four in the back called up their assent, hardly looking shaken. They couldn’t really see what was going on in the front of the van, their view blocked by each other and by Brendon’s, Sarah’s, and Andy’s heads.

“We’re fine, right, B?” Sarah added, hand braced against the back of Andy’s seat. She looked to Brendon for his confirmation, eyes widening when she saw the pained look on his face. “Bren? You okay?”

Brendon shook himself, sitting up straight and flashing her a wide smile. “Of course I am, Sarah,” he grinned, “Don’t worry.” 

The girl sat back, not looking entirely convinced.

* * *

Gerard, Frank, Mikey, and Ray’s three bedroom apartment was in a rundown complex called Green Bay Apartments. It was owned by some guy named Mike who really didn’t give a fuck what happened in the place as long as the cops weren’t showing up on his doorstep and they were reasonably civil to the neighbors. It was the optimal living space for the group, as it was just big enough to host all of their friends, and could  _ just  _ fit a party if some of it spilled out into the balcony and no one was fucking in the bedrooms.

The place had felt like a third home to Brendon since they’d first moved in - Pete’s parents’ basement being the second. It was almost always full of people he cared about, and he could normally find  _ someone  _ who would be willing to put up with his weirdness for longer than a few minutes at any given time.

Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to be the case today. After being half-carried up the stairs by Andy, because his crutches and ankle brace made it difficult to climb them himself, Andy went off to find Joe and Sarah became attached to Jamia’s side. Josh, Tyler, Jenna, and Debby headed for the kitchen, where Lindsey and Ray were popping an absurd amount of popcorn. Brendon was left sitting on the couch and watching as his friends carried on without him.

_ “No one wants me here,”  _ he thought miserably, picking up a couch pillow and hugging it to his chest.  _ “I should just leave. They’d probably be happier - wouldn’t have to worry about tripping over my crutches and taking care of me.”  _

Brendon was drowning in his own self-pity for maybe ten minutes, fully convinced that no one wanted him around, before he felt the couch dip beside him. He looked up to find Dallon sitting next to him, pulling the crate serving as a coffee table closer and placing a couch pillow on it. He tapped it, smiling cautiously at Brendon until the younger boy propped his foot up, then helped him take off his ankle brace. A bag of ice was placed over his ankle, and Dallon sat back, tugging Brendon closer until the boy was tucked against his side.

“What’s wrong, Beebo?” he asked, looking down at him with worry.

Brendon shifted nervously. “Nothing’s wrong,” he said, too quickly. “I’m just… tired. Long week, had to work twice as hard to get everywhere. You know.”

Dallon shrugged, looking up to watch as Josh entered the living room with a large bowl of popcorn in each hand. “You seem upset. I was worried,” he admitted. “You’re sure you’re okay? No one messing with you at school?”

“I’m  _ fine,  _ Dal,” he huffed, making grabby hands at Josh as he got closer. “Gimme, you have plenty.” 

Josh laughed, passing a bowl over Dallon. “Share this one, guys, there’s only so many huge bowls and tupperware containers to go round.”

“By that, he means we have a shit ton, but he’s too lazy to go back to the kitchen and get another bowl for himself,” Gerard clarified as he stepped in the front door, dropping his bag and tugging at his shoelaces with paint-stained hands. “I’m onto you, Dun.”

Josh shrugged, dropping onto the ground next to Dallon’s legs. “You’re onto me, Gee Way,” he admitted, shrugging as if to say,  _ what can you do? _ “Baby boy! Get in here, I’ve got the goods!” he added, yelling towards the kitchen.

“Hold on!” Tyler shouted back, which was followed almost immediately by the sound of something hitting something else and Tupperware containers falling onto the floor. “Fuck! I’m okay!” 

“Why do you have so many Tupperwares?” Brendon asked, tilting his head in curiosity. 

Gerard looked thoughtful for a moment, then shrugged. “Hell if I know,” he admitted. “I know they’re not glass because we try to use as little of that as possible, but other than that, I’ve got no fucking clue.” He shrugged once more, looking perplexed, before disappearing into the bedrooms to change out of his paint-splattered clothes. 

Tyler finally came into the living room, thankfully unharmed and carrying a bowl and a large container, both of which he handed off to other people before settling next to his boyfriend. Lindsey came in behind him, clapping her hands like a kindergarten teacher to get everyone’s attention. 

“Movie night officially begins the minute Gee walks out of that door,” she said, pointing to the hallway. “Tonight’s theme… Musicals.” A couple of people groaned, but mostly everyone grinned. 

“Any votes for the first movie?” she continued, shooting a deadly glare at Jamia, who had been one of the groaners. 

They decided on Mamma Mia, much to Jamia’s dismay - “I’ve seen that fucking movie eighteen times, Linds, please have mercy on my soul” - and soon everyone was settled in with their popcorn and Mikey flipped off the lights. Frank wrestled with the blinds before finally getting them and the curtains to close properly, and flopped across both the Way brother’s laps. His head landed in Gerard’s causing the older boy to blush deeply. Ray, saint that he was, handed out boxes of candy to everyone before he sat down and hit play.

Brendon made it through Mamma Mia, but ten minutes into Hairspray his eyes started to droop. Before they could even get halfway through the movie, he was fast asleep, head propped against Dallon’s chest. The older boy wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close, pressing a kiss to his forehead. If Brendon smiled in his sleep, no one noticed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why is this the second time Brendon has fallen asleep on Dallon while they're watching movies I'm so uncreative


	8. headed to the guillotine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S BEEN FOREVER I'M SO SORRY my sister wants to do nothing but play with dolls and play Frozen and I only see her like a month each year so I've been indulging her but now I'm s o behind on my schoolwork and on this story and on "lets take a ride" I'm so sorry but I REALLY LIKE THIS CHAPTER
> 
> Warning for description of a panic attack (near the end in the last little bit) and because Spencer's parents are assholes
> 
> Chapter title from Victorious by Panic! at the Disco

It was dark when Spencer woke up. He sat up and blinked quickly, hoping his eyes would adjust to the basement’s lack of light so he could bring himself to go find the light switch. As he waited, the air conditioning kicked on, blowing down on him and making him shiver.

“Fuck, it’s cold,” he breathed, pulling his thin blanket to his chin. “Hate this stupid basement.” 

A couple of minutes later, his eyes finally adjusted, and Spencer dragged himself from under the somewhat warm blankets. He stumbled across the mostly bare room, hands fumbling on the wall for the lightswitch. When he finally flipped it on, the room was bathed in warm, sort of dim, light and he breathed a small sigh of relief. The basement was still cold and there was a shade drawn over the only window, but at least he could see. 

“Would it kill them to turn the heat on down here?” he grumbled, walking back to the bed and wrapping the blanket tightly around his shoulders. He glanced around the small room, eyes landing on the clock that hung on one of the wood paneled walls. Spencer groaned when he saw it was only a little after eight AM - his mother never slid him breakfast before nine. 

With a dramatic sigh, Spencer fell back on his bed, gazing up at the ceiling. He could hear movement on the floor above his, meaning his parents were probably awake and doing whatever it is they did on Saturday mornings. He wished he could convince them to give him a new book or something, as he’d already read and reread the few that were down here, but he knew from experience it never worked.

Spencer must have dozed off again, because he found himself jolting awake to the sound of a gentle knocking on the door. He sat up and hurried up the stairs, bending down to take the bowl that his mother was passing through the dog flap at the bottom of the door. “Thank you, Mom,” he said, peering into the bowl to find a couple of scoops of oatmeal. 

“Well, I wouldn’t want you to starve,” she quipped through the door, before Spencer heard the sound of her padding away in her slippers. The entire interaction made him feel a bit like Harry Potter when he was given Dudley’s second bedroom, a comparison that he knew his parents would blanch at. 

He quickly ate the oatmeal, only slightly deterred by the lack of butter, brown sugar, or anything else to give it some hint of flavor, and pushed the bowl back through the flap before heading back down the stairs. With a sigh, he went to the bookshelf, pulling out a copy of ‘The View From Saturday’ and settling in to read it for the thirteenth time. 

It wasn’t until he was halfway through the book that he heard from his father. The man called through the door, and Spencer could almost hear the frown in his voice.

“Spencer, it’s time for you to use the bathroom,” he announced gruffly, unlocking the basement door. Spencer put down his book and hurried to the stairs, standing halfway up them until the door was opened. “You have five minutes. After your bathroom break, you can speak to your mother about anything you may need, and she’ll give you your lunch. Then it’s back in the basement until tonight.”

Spencer nodded obediently, digging a fingernail hard into his wrist. “Yes, sir. I understand,” he said, hurrying up the stairs. His father shook his head, eyes softening a bit.

“You know I hate doing this, son,” he said quietly. “It’s for your own good.”

“I know, sir,” Spencer nodded, swallowing hard. “I’m sorry you have to.” His father nodded, and Spencer hurried up to the bathroom on the second floor. 

Once he was done using the toilet, he opened the cupboard under the sink and pulled out his iPod from it’s hiding place. His parents had long since forgotten its existence, and he planned to keep it that way, shoving it deep into the pocket of his oversized sweatpants.

His mother was waiting at the doorway to the dining room when he got downstairs, holding a sandwich wrapped in a paper towel and a bottle of water. She handed them over and smiled kindly. “Is there anything you need, honey?” she asked. Spencer knew it was a trick question. Anything he asked for would be denied, so he shook his head. 

“No ma’am. Thank you,” he replied and she nodded, herding him towards the basement door. 

“You know I love you, honey,” she said, her words just a little sharper than they probably should have been. Spencer nodded quickly, feeling guilty when he couldn’t seem to say the words back. She closed the door on him before she could see it. 

The lock clicking into place was the worst sound in the world to Spencer. This was just the first day, and after his tiny bit of freedom, the basement was already starting to feel claustrophobic. He walked down the stairs, settling on the floor with his sandwich (for eating on the bed was like committing one of the cardinal sins in this house) and pointedly not looking up at the covered window.

Brendon, Sarah, Dallon, and sometimes even Ryan used to come peer through his window when he was locked down here, writing notes back and forth so they could talk. Spencer’s father caught them when he was ten, and covered the window up, but even after that they would come visit, talking to the air just loud enough to be heard faintly and hiding in the bushes when Spencer’s parents peeked outside. Things felt a lot less alone when his old friends were on the other side of the window.

With his sandwich finished, Spencer curled up on his bed with his book and his water, shoving one earbud of in his ear and turning his iPod on low volume. He could have had it louder but he didn’t want to risk not hearing his parents at the door, and he could have used it for social media but he didn’t want to accidentally get caught. Eventually, though, he finished the book and only sat in silence for a few minutes before the call of Tumblr became too great to ignore. 

He was surprised to find messages from a number of his old friends, expressing their concern at the lack of notes and reblogs he’d made in the past few days. Among them, were Sarah, Brendon, and Dallon, which made him tear up a little. 

 

_ sarahorzesomthing: hey just seeing if ur ok tho now tht I think about it u probly wont answer. ily i hope ur parents aren’t being jerks. plz come back to us, we still love you. Breezy and I are so sry about what we said. We didnt mean it. _

 

_ panic-is-my-middle-name: hey man hope ur ok we <3 u and were sry _

 

_ discovvvvibes: did ur parents ground you are you in the basement are you okay please respond asap _

 

Spencer couldn’t bring himself to answer them.

* * *

Sunday was worse. His mother let him take his backpack downstairs after his bathroom break the night before, because he had to do his weekend homework, but he finished it much too quickly. That was when the room started getting to him, like it always did.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t think and it felt like the walls were pressing in on him. “Momma,” he yelled, tears flooding his eyes. “Momma, let me out, please, please let me out. I can’t breathe, Momma, I can’t breathe. I’m going to die down here, please don’t let me die, Mommy. Please, Mommy. Help me.”

With each word his voice became quieter and his breath grew even more ragged. He could hear his parents arguing outside the door, and forced himself to focus on their heated voices, biting hard on his lip to keep from sobbing or crying out again.

He fell asleep after a while, still calling out for his parents like a small child. No one came to check on him.

* * *

  
_ panic-is-my-middle-name: are u okay???? I swung past ur house (in the least creepy way possible) and heard u freaking. basement again? I’m so sorry man. plz talk to me _


	9. worse than nicotine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter made me so upset. I'm so sorry Ryan. Like. So so sorry.
> 
> Warnings: lots of self-hatred, outing someone without their consent, implied homophobia, suicidal thoughts, panic
> 
> Chapter title from Nicotine

Ryan’s stomach turned. He didn’t want to do this. The thought of it made him sick. 

Mrs. Ryan stood in front of him with a smile on her face, graying copper hair pulled back into a conservative bun on the base of her neck. She was going on and on about how they never see him anymore, and he felt sick to his stomach at the thought of what he was about to do.

“I have something to show you,” he said, voice hard. He steeled his nerves and opened his camera gallery, looking for the pictures he had saved from Jon. He hated this, hated it so much. It wasn’t right.

“What is it, sport?” Mr. Ryan asked him, eyes kind, if a little concerned. 

Ryan glanced past them, where Debby was elbowing Brendon over and over again, sticking out her tongue when he tried to duck away. He wanted to stop, wanted to ignore everything Jon said and go over to them, tell Debby that he liked her dress and apologize to Brendon ten times over. Instead, he lifted his phone with shaking hands, handing it to Debby’s parents and then shoving them deep into his pockets.

Mr. Ryan’s face turned red, his eyes turned hard, and his mouth set into a tight, thin line. His wife paled, swallowed, and tried to place a calming hand on her husband’s arm. 

“John, darling, maybe it’s not what it looks like,” she said, looking to Ryan desperately as she handed back his phone. He didn’t want to take it, didn’t want to look at the pictures that were incriminating evidence against two girls who used to be his friends. 

“It is,” he said quietly. “Debby and Jenna have been dating for a long time. You deserved to know.” 

“Thank you, Ryan,” Debby’s father said sternly. He turned around, heading towards Debby. The girl frowned at him, shaking her head, and her grabbed her by the elbow and led her to the parking lot. Debby’s brother followed close at their heels, gnawing on his lip.

Mrs. Ryan watched them, shaking her head sadly. “Thank you, dear,” she said, softly. “We’ll talk to my daughter about this when we get home.”

* * *

Ryan ran from the church, not bothering to change out of his dress shirt and his khakis, or even switch from his shiny shoes. He ran past his house, stomach turning at the thought of going inside and hearing his parents say that they were glad they raised him right, that Debby was sick and wrong. His scarf nearly flew off several times, and he kept pulling it tighter. His hands wouldn’t shaking, and he couldn’t figure out if it was because he was cold or because of what he’d just done.

He’d outted them, he’d told Debby’s parents and Jon was telling Jenna’s and he knew, he  _ knew  _ it wasn’t safe for them. He’d done it and he’d felt sick to his stomach, and he hated himself. He hated himself so much. Ryan wanted to die for what he’d just done. He deserved to die.

He didn’t even realize where he was headed, until he was knocking on Hayley’s door. She opened it slowly, confusion on her face turning to concern when she saw the state Ryan was in. She studied him, eyes landing on the way his hands were shaking. “What’s wrong, Ross?” she asked, voice gentle.

Ryan wanted to answer, but the words stuck in his throat. Tears pricked his eyes and his nose was starting to run from standing in the cold. Hayley seemed to realize this and she opened the door to let him in. He nearly fell over his feet as she led him to the kitchen, but she caught him before he could hit the floor and wake up her whole house. (Thank God for nighttime mass; Hayley’s family was already asleep, so no one else could see him like this.) “Shit, are you okay? What happened?”

She helped him sit down at the breakfast bar, eyes searching his for answers. She trusted him so much, she believed that he’d never do anything that was truly  _ wrong. _ Ryan had to look away, biting hard on his lip to keep from crying. “I-I did something really bad, Hayley,” he stuttered out, his breath catching in his throat. He couldn’t breathe, too upset with himself. He deserved to die. He didn’t deserve to be alive. 

“What’d you do, Ryan?” she asked slowly, her voice gentler than he’d ever heard it. She rubbed comforting circles on his back. She didn’t rush him, just waiting for him to answer. A little bit of the pressure lifted from his throat. 

“J-Jon m-made me,” he managed. He couldn’t make himself say it. She would hate him, and he would lose her. He didn’t want to lose her. He fumbled for his phone, pulling up the pictures he’d shown Debby’s parents. He handed her the phone and closed his eyes, stumbling over an explanation. “I don’t kn-know how he got the pictures, I d-don’t, I sw-swear. He m-made me tell their families, Hayley. I d-didn’t want to, it’s wr-wrong. Th-They didn’t do any-anything.”

He didn’t want to look at her. He didn’t want to see the anger that he was sure was on her face. “Fuck, fuck, what did he… fuck, Ross, what the hell?” Hayley said, voice hard. Ryan flinched, but her hand was still gentle where it rested on his back. She was angry, but she wasn’t yelling at him. He couldn’t believe it.

“‘M sorry, Hayley,” he mumbled, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I’m sorry I fucked up so bad.” Why was he so weak? Why did he let Jon control him like this? She asked what Jon was holding over him, but he couldn’t tell her that he was doing this because Jon swore he loved him. Jon had told him that if he mentioned it to anyone, he’d get into big trouble. Ryan didn’t want to know what that meant.

He apologized until the words started to sound wrong. Hayley shook her head and listened, biting on her lip. She kept glancing to window, her eyes blazing, but every time she looked at him, it was with worry and pity. (He didn’t deserve pity, not after what he’d done.)

“I’m not the one you should apologize to,” she said finally, sinking to the floor. Her voice was sad, a sigh escaping her lips. “That was… it was probably inexcusable, Ross.”

“I know,” he mumbled, pressing his face into his hands. “I’m the worst kind of person. I deserve to die.”

Hayley’s breath caught, and he looked up at her. Her face was red and her eyes were wide. “Don’t say that,” she said firmly. “Don’t you dare ever say that again, Ryan Ross. You don’t deserve to die. You made some awful mistakes, but that’s normal. That’s life. You don’t deserve to die. I promise.”

Ryan nodded. He didn’t believe her.


	10. get these teen hearts beating faster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter should basically be subtitled "other people save Brendon" bc honestly 
> 
> This wasn't supposed to be out this week at all - I was planning on working on it over the weekend - but then Hurricane Hermine went right through my hometown, so we had a six day weekend, and I banged out two chapters of "lets take a ride" and this once I got power back lmao. Thank Florida's shitty weather for this Brendon angst, guys.

Brendon curled up in the bathroom stall, hands trembling as he pulled out his phone. He didn’t pay attention to which kik contact he chose, so he didn’t know that he sent his message to the group chat. 

 

_beebo: cna yuo come pick m eup im at  chrch pelase_

 

He ignored the vibrations coming from his phone in response, dropping it to the cold tile floor in front of him. He squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his hands into fists. This was stupid, it was an unnecessary reaction to Debby’s dad getting mad at her. An excessive reaction to him asking in a low angry tone if there was “something she wanted to tell us about her and Jenna.” 

Brendon tried to concentrate on the chill of the tile through his khaki pants, the hard wall behind him, and the twinge of pain from his fingernails digging into his palms. The world seemed to spinning around him. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t-

“Brendon, open the door.”

“M-Mikey?” Brendon managed, pushing himself up onto his knees to unlock the door to the stall. His hands shook as he fiddled with the metal lock. “W-Why are you here?”

The swung open to reveal Mikey Way, his brow furrowed in concern. “You sent the message to the group chat, and I just got off work, so I was close anyway,” he said, dropping to the floor. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Brendon shook his head, pressing his hands to his eyes for a moment. “I overreacted, I’m sorry,” he mumbled, moving his hands away and pressing them against the ground.

Mikey narrowed his eyes. “I know a little something about overreacting, and I don’t think you’re doing it,” he said slowly, almost cautious. “Bren, tell me what’s up, before I sic Jamia on you.”

“Debby’s dad found out about her and Jen,” he said quietly, knowing that Jamia wouldn’t be nearly as gentle. “He got mad. I remembered that if I ever came out, my parents would probably kill me.” 

It was stupid, a stupid reaction to have, but he couldn’t stop freaking out. Mikey nodded slowly. “No, it makes sense,” he said. “You’re scared, and you just lost two of your best friends, and you don’t want to lose anyone else. I get it.” 

He stood up, brushing off the seat of his pants and offering a hand to pull Brendon to his feet. “Do you want to go home, or come back to the apartment?”

“Your apartment,” Brendon answered quickly. He was supposed to walk to Josh’s after church anyway, having told his parents there was a project they had due the next day. (There was no project, just a need to get away from the house after church and an offer to play video games and eat pizza and stay up way too late for a school night.) Showing up at home would be like telling them that something was wrong, and at this point, half the congregation would know about Debby. He couldn’t bear to listen to whatever his parents had to say about her “sin.”

Mikey nodded, waiting for Brendon to clean himself up a little before they headed for the car. The older boy looked extremely out of place amongst the people who were still milling about, bleached hair and tight black jeans a vast contrast to the nice slacks and dresses worn by everyone else. 

Once they were in the car that Mikey shared with his brother, a slightly uncomfortable silence fell over them. They hadn’t spent much time alone together, as Mikey normally stuck close to his brother and Frank. Obviously, Brendon had been there when things spiralled for Mikey the previous year, and vice versa, but they weren’t  _ close _ . They never had been.

“Hey, so I think Debby and Jenna are going to be at our place for a while,” Mikey began awkwardly when they were parked in front of the apartment complex. “They’ll be here soon with Ray, so if you want to leave or go to, like, someone else’s place or whatever, that’s cool. I imagine a few more people will show up over the next couple hours.”

Brendon shook his head, one of his still slightly shaky hands going to open the car door. “I’ll be fine,” he said firmly. Debby and Jenna needed him right now. He would be fine. It would be ridiculous not to be.

Brendon sat down on Gerard’s bed as Mikey searched through his drawers for clothes that he could change into. (“I’d offer you mine, but I think his will fit you better - same height and stuff.”) Somewhere in between being tossed a pair of Batman sweatpants and having a faded, stretched out t-shirt land on his head, he leaned back, his eyes falling closed until he was fast asleep. 

Mikey smiled when he saw Brendon sleeping, and paused just long enough to carefully remove his shiny black shoes. He flipped off the light as he left the bedroom, reminding himself to tell Dallon that Brendon was okay.

* * *

“Seriously, Walker, buddy, find your chill,” Brendon yelled over his shoulder, darting around the corner. Jon rolled his eyes at the remark, following too close behind for Brendon to be comfortable. His brown eyes darted around for a place to hide - the WalMart would have to do, as long as he could make it across the parking lot before Jon caught up to him.

He pushed his damp hair off of his forehead and took off, not bothering to glance behind him and see how close Jon was.

“Damn it, slow down, you little fuck,” Jon called, huffing in annoyance as Brendon darted between the parked cars so that he was one lane over. “It’ll be so much easier on you.”

“I’m thinking that I’m not gonna do that,” Brendon replied, forcing himself to fight the pain in his lungs and the burning in his thighs. “Don’t you know it’s totally cliche to chase your victims around?” 

He was getting some weird looks from pedestrians, but he was almost to the store. If he could just get inside, he could hide in the toy section, or under a bed, or behind some pillows or  _ something  _ and then he’d be safe. He’d be able to breathe again. 

Jon didn’t answer beyond another annoyed huff, but that might have been him panting more than anything. Brendon didn’t have enough air in his lungs to ask. 

_ Finally, _ he thought, skidding to a stop as he reached the automated doors. He smiled cheerily to the greeter and speed-walked inside, hurrying towards the back of the store as quickly as he could. He darted left suddenly, disappearing amoungst the baby clothes and ducking his head until he made it to the women’s section. A circular rack of dresses was tucked into a corner, and Brendon glanced around himself quickly before squeezing himself in the middle. This was fine. This was great. Just like playing hide and seek with Ryan and Spencer when their parents took them shopping. 

“Excuse me, sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to come out of there.” Fuck, he was caught. Brendon slowly crawled out, praying to every god that existed that Jon wouldn’t come around the corner. “Bren, what the fuck?”

“Oh, hey Joe,” Brendon said, popping up and running a hand through his hair. Now that he had stopped moving, he was suddenly aware of the light throb in his recently healed ankle. Running from the school all the way to WalMart in shoes that were borrowed from Mikey, and thus, too big, on an ankle that had just been deemed ready to walk on again may not have been his brightest idea yet. Oh well.

Joe was looking at him weirdly, tugging absently on the hem of his dark blue vest. “What are you doing in the dresses?” he asked, eyebrows pulled together. 

Over Joe’s shoulder, Brendon spotted Jon, looking around for him. He hissed out a curse and ducked his head, moving so that his body was positioned completely on the other side of Joe’s. 

“It’s a funny story, really,” he said. “But right now, it’d be really nice if you’d let me hide somewhere. Now.”

Joe glanced behind himself, spotting Jon. He looked between the two younger boys, gears turning in his head. Brendon imagined he looked like a mess, what with his sweaty hair plastered to his forehead, his weight all resting on one foot, and his face red. It wasn’t his finest moment, but he reasoned that Joe had seen him at his worst, sobbing over losing a best friend or sloppy drunk the night after. This was downright normal.

“Okay, come on, I got something,” he said finally, putting one hand on Brendon’s shoulder and leading him towards the break room. An older employee glared as they entered, with Joe shoving Brendon toward a couch and grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.

“Employees only, Trohman,” the man grumbled, eyes pinned on Brendon like daggers. Joe smiled easily, ignoring the way Brendon shrunk in his seat, and handed him a water bottle. 

“C’mon, man, Bren’s my brother, and my shift is over in like, thirty minutes,” he complained. Brendon arched an eyebrow, because  _ really?  _ Brother was what they were going with? But he did nothing to confirm or deny the story. 

The man sighed, shaking his head. “If anyone asks, I wasn’t here,” he said firmly to the room at large, turning back to the paper he had been reading. 

Joe nodded and turned to Brendon. “I’ll be back, and we’ll head to Pete’s, and then we’re  _ talking, _ ” he said firmly, before disappearing out the door. Brendon swallowed. He wasn’t looking forward to this conversation.

 

_ -group chat: Fall Out Boy- _

_ HorseShoeCrab: guys its important _

_ theCatcher: what _

_ DrBenzedrine: what _

_ Sandman: what _

_ HorseShoeCrab: its bren _

_ HorseShoeCrab: someone get ray and dal, i gotta go back 2 work its important see u at pete’s in 45 _

_ Sandman: fuck? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Lying is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off   
> (aka my alarm song bc nothing gets me out of bed like a need to turn that song off before my mother hears it)


	11. but who could love me? i am out of my mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y I K E S this chapter did not want to be written y'all. It was a struggle. I'm posting this at nearly two am because that's when I finished the chapter and I needed it posted or else I wasn't gonna be able to sleep tonight tbh. Sorry bout it.
> 
> Fact: Lindsey Way could actually stab me, and I'd thank her for deigning me worthy enough to murder.   
> Other fact: I had Crazier Than You from the Addams Family Musical stuck in my head the entire time I wrote this for absolutely no reason and I think that leaked into Jon a little whoops. 
> 
>  
> 
> Trigger warnings for: panic attacks, non-consensual kissing, and relapses! Stay safe kids.

Spencer’s hand balled into a tight fist at his side. His mother was yelling again. In fact, she wouldn’t  _ stop _ yelling. 

The worst part was the way she would look at him with such… with such  _ sympathy.  _ The way she’d say that she loved him, that she was angry because she cared, that they were strict because they were worried about him. Her interjections of “it was for your own good” were about to make Spencer scream. He he knew what he’d done was  _ wrong _ , he knew it was bad for him, but he couldn’t help it. He was desperate. But he regretted it now - he’d only just been released from the basement and she was already threatening him with it again. He couldn’t go back in the basement. He couldn’t… he couldn’t breathe.

Every word that his mother said sounded distant and fuzzy, like she was yelling through a wall. He had to get away from her.

Both of them were surprised when he turned away from her and bolted for the door.

Spencer had no idea where he was going, or what he’d do once he got there. He didn’t know who to run to, or who to call. He didn’t know how mad his parents would be once the shock wore off, or he returned home. All he knew was that he couldn’t be there. 

His legs were burning, and he wasn’t even out of his neighborhood yet. He wouldn’t make it out of here, not if his parents got in the car. 

With a shaky gasp, squeezing his eyes shut to keep tears from running down his cheeks, he changed direction, darting between houses towards the woods on the northern side of the neighborhood. A car screeched to a halt as he raced across the next street without looking, the driver spitting out a curse. 

Spencer didn’t care.

His feet pounded on the ground as he ran. His lungs burned for air. He was so close. So, so close.

The trees surrounded him, hid him from the street, and he kept running. Maybe if he ran forever, everything would be okay. If Spencer ran forever, then he couldn’t cause any more problems for anyone. 

He collapsed in the center of a clearing and sobbed.

* * *

Jon found him.

“Why are you crying, Smith? You finally see how worthless you are?” he sneered creully, footsteps crunching on leaves as he crossed the clearing. Spencer flinched, curling tighter in on himself. 

“Answer me, damn it,” Jon snapped, kicking Spencer in the side. The younger boy let out a small whimper at the contact, but made no other move to respond.

Jon sat down in front of him, his eyes narrowed as he stared at the boy for a long minute. He slowly lifted his head to look up, and that’s when Jon leaned forward, pressing his lips to Spencer’s.

Spencer jerked backwards, trying to pull away, but Jon held him there, hands running down the boy’s sides and trying to work their way towards his pants and his shirt’s hem. Spencer struggled and squirmed and cried, shaking harder than he had been before, choking out screams as Jon’s tongue wormed its way into his mouth. He bit down hard, tasted blood, and the older boy cried out, shoving him to the ground. Spencer scrambled to his feet and started running again. 

Something vibrated in his pocket. His phone! He yanked it out as he ran, ignoring the text he had received, and using Touch ID to unlock it without looking. He glanced down for only a moment, hearing the sounds of Jon getting closer, huffing about how he’d run “too damn much today,” whatever that meant. He didn’t care who he called, as long as it wasn’t his parents, he could have called  _ anyone, _ and been grateful. 

“Spencer?” 

“Lindsey,” he panted out, voice cracking and breaking. He couldn’t breathe well, he couldn’t talk long. “Lindsey, I need…help.”

“Spencer, where are you?”

“I… woods… running... get me, please.” He couldn’t keep going, he was about to pass out. The familiar sight of the street near school appeared just beyond the trees. “Almost… past the school.”

Lindsey breathed a sigh of relief that exploded into crackling static in Spencer’s ear. He flinched away for a second, pressing himself faster when he felt Jon nearly grab the hood of his jacket. “Okay, okay, keep running towards Pete’s neighborhood, I’m at the gas station,” she told him, her voice calm and steady in his ear. “Jump into my passenger side. It’ll be okay, Spencer. I promise, I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

_ I’ve been hurt already,  _ he thought, gasping for air as Jon grabbed at him again. The gas station was close - he could see Lindsey’s ancient red truck with the passenger door hanging open, waiting for him. With the last bit of strength he pushed himself towards the parking lot, stumbling into Lindsey’s truck and slamming the door after him. Jon slowed and watched the truck peel away from the parking lot, Lindsey flipping him off out the rear windshield as they drove.

Spencer let out a painful sob that wracked his body and ripped through the car. 

* * *

Spencer gripped the edge of the bathroom sink in Lindsey’s apartment, biting so hard on his lip that he was drawing blood. An orange container of pills shook in his hands. He didn’t know why Lindsey and Alicia had them in their medicine cabinet, hadn’t even bothered to check out the name on the bottle. For all he knew, it could be Jamia’s or something, he didn’t know. He didn’t know anything.

There was a gentle knock on the door, followed by Lindsey asking if he was okay. Spencer cursed as he dropped the bottle onto the tile floor. He watched helplessly as pills spilled everywhere, dropping to his knees to try and collect them before Lindsey could find out. Luck was clearly not on his side, as the door slowly opened and she assessed the scene in front of her before settling on the floor to help him.

“Did you take any?” she asked quietly, picking a long strand of black hair off of one of the pills. She glanced up at Spencer through her bangs, but neither her voice nor her face gave away any hint of emotion.

Spencer

shook his head, refusing to look back at her. 

“Spencer, what’s wrong?” she tried, pouring her handful of pills into the container. He shrugged and handed her his own pile, staring down at his hands as he returned them to his lap. 

Lindsey put the cap back on the container and set it on the counter, turning so she could sit with her back against the wall. “Something’s wrong. Tell me, and I’ll help you,” she said again, worry creeping into her voice.

“You’ll be mad at me,” Spencer said softly, squeezing his eyes shut as a tear slid down his cheek. 

“I won’t be mad,” she said softly. “Do I look mad?” 

He glanced up for a minute and shook his head, returning his gaze to his lap. “I don’t get mad at my kids,” she reminded him. Spencer flinched, sitting back and pulling his knees to his chin. 

“You will,” he insisted, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I shouldn’t have called you. I shouldn’t have worried you. I’m sorry.”

Lindsey sighed quietly, playing with the ring on her thumb. “I’ve been worrying about you since the day you were in the hospital,” she said. “I was worried before, but that’s when it was clear that things really weren’t okay with you. And then you just cut everyone off, and Alicia says it’s not my fault but if I had just noticed before, if I had  _ tried harder _ , maybe you wouldn’t have, you know? I’m worried right now, but it just means I care. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Spencer was going to cry again. His dad was right - he acted like a little girl. “I- I relapsed,” he mumbled, pressing his face into his knees when he started crying. “I was handling it, and then I was grounded over the weekend, and then I stopped handling it, and Mom found out and I’m sorry.” His words were muffled and choked up, and Lindsey’s heart broke for him.

“It’s okay, I’m not mad,” she said. “It happens. Honestly, I kind of figured when I saw the pills everywhere, kiddo.” 

Spencer flinched again and she frowned, because something was  _ wrong _ with that. “Hey, Spence, why were you running away from Jon Walker?” Because she knew the kid was an asshole, knew that he’d been the one who outed Jenna to her parents the night before. But she didn’t know he was messing with Spencer, or why he would even bother to. 

“He-” Spencer choked on a sob, and spent a few long seconds trying to calm down enough to speak. “He kissed me,” he finally managed, biting hard on his lip and pressing his face even harder into his knees. 

Lindsey stared at him, hating that her first thought was “Walker’s not straight?” The words finally processed completely, the reaction that Spencer had to them - fear, not happiness, and definitely not love. Her face hardened. 

“Did you want him to kiss you?” she asked slowly, her voice just barely tinged with ice.

Spencer raised his head to look at her, lower lip red and bloody. He shook his head slowly, and Lindsey was seething. Before either of them could say anything else, Lindsey’s phone rang. Spencer jumped a foot in the air, staring at the phone like it was about to explode. He was embarrassed when Lindsey smiled a little at him before answering.

“What is it, Toro? I’ve kind of got a situation right now,” she snapped, pushing her black bangs out of her eyes. She froze, jaw clenching and unclenching. 

“What happened to Bren?” she asked, voice dangerously low. She sighed, hummed in agreement, and ended the call before turning back to Spencer.

“C’mon Spence,” she said slowly, pushing herself to her feet. “We’re gonna take a little field trip to Pete’s basement.” 

Spencer took her proffered hand cautiously and she pulled him upright. He didn’t miss her slipping the bottle of pills into the pocket of her hoodie before she led him out of the apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from She Had the World
> 
> Part of me really wants to make this Bralloncer because I'm trash whoops


	12. now the devil won't leave me alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the longest chapter, but I'm not sure. It wasn't gonna stop here, but we were nearing 2k words and onto the fifth page on google docs so cliffhanger it is. 
> 
> This is a Lot so please don't hate me I've had bits of this planned for, like, forever. In case you can't tell, we're wrapping up everyone's storylines pretty soon ya'll. Not _soon_ soon but like. This is nearing the resolution.
> 
> Trigger Warnings for: referenced child abuse, alcohol abuse, homophobia/homophobic language, crying, suicidal thoughts, and referenced self-harm. Be careful guys, I love y'all.

Ryan froze, listening through the door to his father’s humming in the hallway. Something sounded off about it, too absentminded and tuneless. He was drunk again.

Swallowing hard at the panic that built in his throat, Ryan slowly stood up from where he was huddled on the middle of his bed. As quietly as he could, he grabbed a sweater and a pair of jeans and shoved them into his backpack. His shoes were stuffed in at the top, and he turned for the window just as the knob of his door started turning.

“Where ya goin’ kiddo?” his father asked from behind him, leaning heavily against the doorframe. Ryan cringed, turning back towards him and smiling awkwardly. 

“Nowhere, Dad,” he said quickly, hand tightening on the strap of his backpack as it dangled loosely. 

“Looked like somewhere,” his father replied, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “You weren’ plannin’ on jumpin’ out the window, were ya?”

Ryan snorted, rolling his eyes. “Why would I do that?” he asked, trying to sound amused. It was a mistake. His father’s smile dropped, eyes hardening. He took a step into the room, wavering only slightly. 

“You laughin’ at me, Georgie?” he asked, words slurring together in a way that made them sound more threatening than anything. Ryan shook his head quickly, taking a step away from his father and swallowing the bile that was rising in his throat to replace the panic. “You know, I was laughin’ earlier, ‘cause that Walker boy came by and told me something really interesting about you.”

Ryan’s eyes widened. He took two more steps back, pressing his hip against the chair that sat in front of his desk. Just one more step, and he’d reach the open window. One more step and he could run. “What’d he say?” he asked, feigning casualty. 

“Said you’re a  _ fag _ ,” his father sneered, flaring his nostrils at the word. Ryan flinched, hard. “Said you’ve been sleeping around with guys and dressing like a fairy at school. Said that you’ve been wearin’ those scarves I told you to get rid of. I told ‘im he was lying and slammed the door in his face.”

Jon wouldn’t like that. He didn’t like when people did stuff like that, to him. It made him angry, made him take out his anger on innocent people (on Ryan, especially) and that wasn’t good. Ryan swallowed again, his mouth dry. He should say something, why couldn’t he make himself speak?

“After all, you told the Ryans about their little girl, didn’t you? Always liked her - too bad she turned out to be a dyke,” he groused. Ryan nodded quickly, hoping that agreeing would make him go away.

“Y-Yes sir,” he managed, voice small and a little raspy. His father glared harder, taking another step forward. Ryan forced himself not to react.

“ _ Are you _ gay, son?” he asked quietly, just a hint of anger clinging to his words. Ryan hated this voice, hated that he sounded  _ almost _ sober, sounded  _ almost _ fatherly. He knew what was coming.

“No sir,” he mumbled, looking at a spot just above his father’s head. He couldn’t look him in the eye, even though he wasn’t technically lying. He wasn’t gay. He was bi. It wasn’t the same thing - he still liked girls.

“Don’t lie to me,” his father hissed, coming forward with his arm raised. 

Ryan yelped, jumping backwards and almost falling through the open window behind him. He threw his backpack out of it, turning quickly and pushing himself headfirst behind it. He felt his father’s hand close around his ankle and gasped, kicking hard until he felt his other foot connect with his father’s nose with a sickening crunch. 

Free from his grasp, he ignored the man’s howl of pain and shoved himself further, landing in a heap on the ground with his bag digging into his side. He stood quickly, snatching up the bag and tossing it onto his back as he started to run. The cold air hitting his bare skin was the only thing that reminded him that he wasn’t wearing a jacket or shoes, but he didn’t care, desperate to put distance between himself and his father.

He darted across the road suddenly, intent on throwing him off of his trail, causing a car to swerve around him. “Holy fuck, Ross!” the driver shouted. Ryan nearly froze, goosebumps running up his arms as he recognized the voice, but he didn’t stop, turning so he was running along the street instead of away from it. 

The car started moving again, pulling up alongside him, and the driver rolled down the window. “What the fuck is going on, Ross?” Jamia Nestor called, voice hard. Ryan bit his lip and curled his hands into fists. He could feel tears pricking at his eyes. This was really not the time. 

“Leave me alone,” he snapped, wincing as his foot connected with an acorn and the pointy part on the bottom dug into the sole. 

Jamia rolled her eyes. “George Ryan Ross the Third,” she said firmly, glancing up at the street in front of her before looking back at him. “I have some shit to say to you.”

Ryan hated the tight feeling in his chest that signaled he was going to cry. He wished that Jamia had just run him over. “Listen, I understand that, really,” he said, fighting to keep the tears that were clearly at bay out of his voice. “If I were you, I would punch me in the face, but honestly, my dad’s beat you to it a few dozen times and right now I need to get the fuck away from him, so if you would just leave me alone, that’d be great.”

Jamia’s face paled, and she hit the break hard, parking the car in the middle of the road and climbing out. Ryan was still running, but he could hear the sound of her boots hitting the tar of the road and gaining on him. Suddenly, she grabbed him by the arm and was hauling him backwards, practically throwing him into her backseat and slamming the door behind. 

“What are you doing?” Ryan asked, tears finally starting to drip down his cheeks. He wiped at them with the back of his hands, biting his lip and trying to make it  _ stop _ . 

“Helping you, you asshole,” she snapped, glancing both ways before she made a probably illegal U-turn and started heading for the exit from the neighborhood.

“Why?” 

Jamia sighed, hands gripping the steering wheel so hard that Ryan could tell her knuckles were turning white. “Because I can’t just let your dad catch up to you, now can I?” she said gruffly, hitting the brake suddenly before she ran a stop sign. She let out a long breath through her nose. “Where am I taking you?” she asked once the car was moving again.

“C-Can you take me to Hayley’s house?” he asked softly, voice cracking. Jamia glanced at him over her shoulder, and took in the tears on her face, and nodded once. The car was mostly silent, with the exception of the CD that Jamia was playing to cover up the sound of Ryan’s sniffling. He liked the CD, and he thought the singer sounded like Gerard, which was interesting if a little odd.

Ryan tried to focus on the way that Jamia’s fingers tapped on the steering wheel, the way that she hummed along to the music, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t stop  _ thinking _ , and even worse, he couldn’t stop crying. Jamia should have run him down. He wouldn’t have blamed her - if anything, he would have thanked her. 

It seemed like no time before they were pulling up to Hayley’s house, Jamia stopping and eying the empty driveway. “You sure she’s home?” she asked, looking a little concerned. 

“She should be,” Ryan said thickly, scrubbing the heels of his hands against his cheeks and eyes. “Thanks.” 

He pushed the door of the car open, tugging his bag out behind him. Jamia paused, reaching between the seats to grab a strap of his backpack before he could get out completely. “Hey, Ross,” she said quickly, “I’m still mad at you.”

“I know,” Ryan said quietly. “I would be too.”

Jamia rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t done,” she snapped, a small frown on her face. “I was  _ going _ to say that even though I’m mad as hell, I’m still only a click away if something happens with your dad and you need help. I… Unlike some people, I haven’t blocked you yet. And Frank would be there for you too. We know a thing or two about asshole parents.”

Ryan frowned, brows creasing in confusion. “Why would you help me?” he asked, voice scratchy.

“I hate you so much, Ross, but no one deserves that shit,” she admitted. “Now get your ass out of my car.” 

Ryan nodded quickly, pulling away and slamming the door behind him. Jamia peeled away from the curb, and he watched her go, wincing as she turned herself around and honked when she drived by again. He shut down then, falling to the ground, wrapping his arms around his knees and pulling them to his chest. A shout from behind him was all that kept him from completely freaking out.

* * *

“Ryan, talk to me,” Hayley pleaded, biting on her lower lip the way she did when she was worried.

She’d come out of the house when Jamia honked, gasping at the sight of Ryan curled up on the curb and staring down the street. He hadn’t spoken to her at all since, just nodding and shaking his head. He’d let her stuff him into his sweater and wrap a blanket around him, arranging him on the overstuffed couch like a worried mother. 

“Ryan, you’re frozen, and you’re crying and I need to know what’s wrong,” she insisted, searching his face for any sign of response. Ryan shrugged, pressing his fingers into his thighs.

The only thing he could do was respond like this, digging his fingers into the one thing he’d managed to somehow keep a secret from everyone except Jon. (And he wished more than anything that Jon didn’t know, that he hadn’t been vulnerable and stupid and believed him. Jon didn’t love him. No one loved him.) He could just barely feel the thick, raised red marks through the fabric of his skinny jeans, which were already rubbing uncomfortably against his marred skin.

“Ryan,  _ please, _ you’re scaring me,” Hayley tried again, forcing her face into Ryan’s line of sight. He flinched back, hard, biting his lip and whispering out an apology.

“It’s just,” he took a shuddering breath and focussed on her face. Hayley deserved to know. “It’s just a lot of things, it’ll take a while to explain them.”

Hayley shook her head, sitting on the couch next to him and pulling him into a side hug. One of her hands combed through his hair. “I’ve got time, Ross,” she said with a small smirk. “Lay it on me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Turn Off The Lights


	13. slightly sarcastic with a good chance of rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone help this poor child jfc. Also can you believe that Brallon still isn't together because I can't lol
> 
> Warnings for: panic attacks, mentions of bullying/denial of bullying, and Brendon being fucking adorable and sad

For someone so talkative, Brendon was finding it extraordinarily hard to speak with his friends’ eyes locked on him. He wished that he hadn’t decided to hide in WalMart, because as much as he knew that Joe just wanted to help him - that all of them just wanted to help him - he was now faced with the awkward situation of explaining just what had happened over the last two and a half months, the true weight of all the secrets he’d been keeping. It wasn’t a conversation he was looking forward to. 

Ray cleared his throat, eyes flicking between the stairs to Pete’s basement and the small, scared looking boy in front of him. “Dal should be here any minute,” he said slowly. Brendon’s head shot up from where it had been staring resolutely at his knees, and he fixed the man with a wide-eyed stare. 

“You called Dallon?” he asked, voice high and panicked. When he caught sight of the guilty looks that Joe and Pete exchanged, he groaned, biting hard on his lower lip and curling his hands into fists. “Why did you call him?”

“He’s worried about you, Brendon,” Patrick supplied gently. “We all are, but he’s your best friend and he-”

“He doesn’t need to worry about this,” Brendon insisted, cutting Patrick off. The older boy didn’t seem to care, eyes softening even more in understanding, but Pete looked a little miffed at his boyfriend’s interruption. “I’m handling this. Dallon doesn’t need to worry about this. Someone tell him not to come, someone call him off, please, Patrick, Andy, someone, please.”

His hands came up to twist in his hair, tugging at it and wincing slightly at the pain. Ray looked concerned at his frantic tone, but he sent the younger boys a look that read,  _ don’t do what he says, Dallon needs to be here _ . 

In an attempt to placate the teenager, Patrick smiled apologetically. “It’s too late, Bren, he’ll be here any minute,” he said softly, earning him a pathetic attempt at a glare that was really more teary and resigned than actually angry. 

“Bren?” Dallon’s voice reached them before he did, though the tall boy was hurrying down the stairs so quickly that everyone was honestly surprised he didn’t trip over his own feet and tumble the rest of the way down. He practically threw himself down at Brendon’s side once he reached the bottom, tugging his fingers from his hair and gripping his hands with his own. “Bren, what’s wrong? What’s going on?” 

Ray cleared his throat again, looking to Joe to explain. “That’s a good question. Joe?” 

“Something’s up with Brendon,” Joe started. Pete raised his eyebrows at his friend, as if to say,  _ nah shit dude, _ and Joe rolled his eyes. “Let me finish. He was running away from Jon Walker today,” Dallon’s face darkened, hands tightening around Brendon’s, “and he was  _ scared _ , dude. Don’t even deny it, you were fucking terrified of him.”

“I was not,” Brendon protested weakly. He was met with disbelieving faces from all six of the other boys in the room. “Okay, okay, so I was a little scared.”

“Try ‘watching Friday the Thirteenth for the first time, home alone with the lights off at age nine’ level scared, man,” Joe replied, eyebrows raised. He turned back to the others. “It wasn’t normal, and it  _ really _ wasn’t like Brendon. I think - and I might be reading too much into it - but I think that Jon’s the one who pushed Brendon and Josh down the stairs a couple weeks ago. And I don’t think that’s the only thing he’s done.”

Silence fell in the basement as they took in Joe’s accusation. One of Dallon’s arms slipped around Brendon’s shoulder, pulling him close to his side, and Brendon could see the comprehension dawning on his face as he put two and two (and two and two) together and figured out what had been going on.

“The bruises,” he said, softly, speaking up when Ray’s eyes shifted from studying Brenodn to staring at him. “The bruises and the time you showed up at my dorm on your first day, and the way your hands were fucking scraped to hell the other day, and all the times you flinched when someone nudged you in the side - those were because of Jon, weren’t they?”

Brendon’s eyes had to be giving away how scared he was because he was practically vibrating with fear. Jon would kill him if anyone else found out. Or he would out him to his parents. Or… or… or something. 

“Brendon,” Ray’s voice was gentle, if concerned, dark eyes filled with worry. He was fiddling with the case of his phone as he spoke, looking as if he was contemplating making a phone call. “Brendon, tell us. We just want to help you.”

Slowly, shakily, Brendon nodded. He couldn’t bring himself to say the words, but it seemed that a simple nod just wasn’t enough.

“We need you to say it,” Ray said apologetically. “Is Jon bullying you?”

Brendon’s heart leapt to his throat. He swallowed hard, forced himself to form a sentence as best he could. “I… I wouldn’t call it bullying,” he managed, not meeting anyone’s eyes. It wasn't bullying, was it? That was what it was called in movies, only happened to skinny white girls and boys, or freshly outed gay kids on TV who were small and nerdy and seemingly alone. It was girls whispering nasty comments and spreading life-ruining rumors, and the football team cornering you in the alleyway and beating you black and blue. It didn't happen in real life, didn't happen to Brendon. It wasn't bullying, it was just one kid (two, he reminded himself with a wince) who had a vendetta against him for no apparent reason. That was all.

Beside him, Dallon sucked in a harsh breath, his grip tightening around Brendon’s shoulders. Patrick winced, and shook his head, acutely aware that it was a lie. Andy’s hands balled into fists momentarily, flexing his biceps before he calmed down, and placing a cautious hand on Joe’s shoulder, who was seething. Joe flinched at his boyfriend’s touch before relaxing into it. Ray’s eyes blazed with a quiet anger. And Pete seemed to be trying to hold himself back, sucking a deep breath at Patrick’s warning glare until-

“That’s bullshit!” he yelled, slamming his fists into his thighs. Brendon jumped at the words, curling into himself tightly.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he whimpered, words escaping with his breath because holy shit he couldn’t breathe why couldn’t he breathe what was going on what was happen someone  _ help. _

Brendon felt himself being moved into someone’s lap, and a hand rubbing big, comforting circles into his back. Dallon’s hand remained tight around his own, preventing him from compulsively twisting his fingers tightly into his dark hair. There was someone talking to the person holding him -  _ Dallon, _ he realized, the familiar scent of aftershave and mint body wash breaking through the fog around him for a moment - and Dallon was repeating the words in his ear, slow and calming.

“It’s okay, Bren, just breathe,” he coaxed, voice low so it was just between them. “Everything’s okay, I just need you to breathe for me. Come on. You’re in Pete’s basement. You’re safe. We’re all worried about you, Patrick, Pete, Joe, Andy, Ray, and me, Dallon. We’re gonna take care of you. We want you to be okay. Come on, baby, breathe with me.”

Dimly, Brendon registered the petname and the warm feeling it gave him, but he filed that information away for later, when he could actually think properly and didn’t feel like his lungs were about to give out. Slowly, he managed to match his breathing to Dallon’s, and the fog seemed to lift around him. He lifted his head to look around.

Dallon looked relieved to see he was alright, Patrick sitting next to him - probably the one who had coached him through Brendon’s panic attack. Andy and Joe were off to the side with Pete, both berating him quietly while the latter just looked extremely guilty. Ray had his phone lifted halfway to his ear, finger poised over one of the buttons.

“Well,” Brendon said breathlessly, trying for a grin, “that went well, didn’t it?”

Dallon chuckled wanly. “You asshole,” he said, no real heat to his words. “You fucking scared me.”

Brendon shrugged like,  _ what can you do? _ His eyes landed on Ray, who still looked like he was deliberating between pressing call and putting his phone down. Said man smiled thinly, tilting his phone so Brendon could see the number on screen. “I was going to call Linds,” he admitted. “I think she’d be helpful here. But only if you say it’s cool.” 

“Do it,” Brendon decided after a moment’s deliberation. “Call her. Please.”

Ray nodded, lifting the phone to his ear. It rang for a moment before Ray gave a thumbs up to indicate that she’d answered. “Hey, Linds,” he said coolly. He rolled his eyes at whatever she said in response.

“Don’t be a bitch,” he chided. “It’s Brendon.” He gave an exaggerated eyeroll, though he looked a little concerned at whatever she’d said, before nodding quickly. 

“Come to Pete’s, and we’ll explain. See ya,” he said, hanging up and shuffling to shove his phone into his pocket. In the corner, Pete was tapping away at his phone while his friends and boyfriend eyed him suspiciously. Brendon didn’t particularly care what he was doing. If the older guy wanted to be weird, then he’d let him.

He yawned and rested his head against Dallon’s chest, tucking his face into the place it fit nicely, in the crook of his neck. It only took him a couple of minutes to fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from London Beckoned Songs About Money Written By Machines (whose title I literally forgot because it's too fuckign long jfc)


	14. give me a sign i wanna believe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AH I'm so sorry this took so long there was a Lot happening in my life at the moment. Also America has officially gone to shit and I needed time to recover lol   
> BUT NOW the chapter you've all been waiting for. Probably. Maybe. Yay.
> 
> Warnings for: references to Jon Walker's antics in this fic, panicking, etc. Idek man, lemme know if there's something I missed

Lindsey placed a gentle hand on Spencer’s shoulder as they approached Pete’s front door. “Hey, you’re okay, alright?” she muttered, making him pause at the bottom of the front steps. He took in a deep breath, then nodded firmly, squaring his shoulders and letting her open the door. 

The house was mostly silent, in an unnerving sort of way. Spencer was used to Pete’s parents being out, but knowing that something was wrong just down the stairs to his left set him on edge. Lindsey went first, opening the door at the top of the stairs and hurrying down. Spencer followed at a much slower pace, almost scared to see who was gathered in the room at the bottom. He closed the door behind him slowly, smothering the way his heart squeezed in fear left over from years of being locked away in his parents basement.

The group at the bottom of the stairs seemed almost random. Dallon was settled on the couch, with Brendon curled up in his lap. Patrick hovered next to him, worrying his lower lip between his teeth and seemingly communicating with Pete via facial expression across the basement. Joe was tucked against Andy’s chest in a beanbag chair in the corner, though it looked more like Andy was holding him back than anything. Finally, there was Ray, who was sitting in front of Dallon and Brendon with his eyebrows pulled together in concern.

When Lindsey cleared her throat, everyone in the room seemed to jump, turning towards the stairs and taking in the young woman with Spencer cowering behind her. Ray jumped up and pulled her into a hug, then turned to Spencer with a small smile. 

“Spence?” he asked quietly, opening his arms in a silent offer for a hug. Spencer fell into them, breathing in his familiar scent. He didn’t realize just how much he missed his friends until this moment, but he  _ needed _ them, like he needed air to breathe. He pulled away first, Ray looking reluctant to let go of him. “What’re you doing here?” 

“I told you, there was a situation,” Lindsey replied, voice clipped and emphasis on the final word that clearly read ‘we’re talking about that later.’ Spencer was still in awe that she could convey so much with just one word. “Now what’s happening here?” 

Ray pulled Lindsey to the side to talk quietly to her. Spencer overheard Jon’s name, and winced. He knew all too well that things weren’t okay in regards to him and Brendon.

“Spence?” Spencer whipped around at the groggy voice calling his name. Brendon’s head was lifted from Dallon’s shoulder, and he was peering through the dim basement at him. Patrick smiled awkwardly and got up from the couch, hurrying over to Pete and pulling him into whispered conversation. It was pretty clear that everyone expected him to hurry to the sleepy boy’s side, so Spencer crossed the room slowly, eyes locked on the toes of his sneakers.

He dropped into the place that Patrick had just vacated, very aware of the way that Dallon was watching him carefully with his eyebrows furrowed. “Hi, Brendon,” he said slowly, refusing to look up at the brown eyes he knew were burning into him.

“What’re you doing here? What’s wrong?” Brendon’s voice was concerned, almost frantic, as if he wasn’t the one with tear tracks down his cheeks and curled around Dallon like his life depended on it. 

“I can… leave, if you want,” Spencer said quickly, biting at a hangnail on his left thumb.

“No, no, no, no,” Brendon said quickly, clambering from Dallon’s lap to wrap Spencer into a tight hug. “You can’t leave, not again. I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

Spencer froze, breath catching in his lungs. He knew Brendon meant it in a silly, friend-who-was-worried way, but he couldn’t stop thinking about his mother’s voice shattering his carefully built walls and threatening to never let him leave again, to keep him in her sight for the rest of his life. He felt himself stiffening in Brendon’s arms, the older boy pulling back quickly and apologizing profusely. Spencer wanted to say something, to tell him he knew that he didn’t mean it like  _ that _ , but it was no use. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t think, and he couldn’t breathe. 

“Hey, hey, Spencer, it’s okay,” Dallon said gently, his hand gently rubbing Spencer’s back. “Brendon’s sorry he triggered you, even if he doesn’t know why. It’s okay, you’re okay, everything’s fine. You’re safe.”

He slowly relaxed, taking in the worried faces of his friends from around the room. “I’m fine,” he said quickly, holding up his hands to prove his point. “Nothing to see here.” 

Joe rolled his eyes. “Right, well,” he said, pushing his way out of Andy’s grasp, despite his boyfriend’s protests. “There’s something I have to take care of with a certain teenager, and I’m going to need somebody sane there, so come on Patrick,” he grabbed the shorter boy’s arm and pulled him to the stairs, the sound of the door clicking shut behind them coming before he could even protest. 

“I should go make sure he doesn’t murder anyone,” Andy sighed, stretching before he pulled himself from the beanbag he was still pressed into. “See you guys soon. And Spencer, seriously, don’t disappear on us again, okay? We love you a lot.” He disappeared upstairs before Spencer could react. Pete disappeared behind him with the excuse of picking up food for “when those losers come back” which left Spencer, Dallon, Brendon, Lindsey, and Ray.

Dallon carefully wormed his way out from under Brendon, depositing the teenager on the couch and going to discuss  _ something _ quietly with Ray and Lindsey. There were a few moments of tense silence before all three turned to the two teenagers on the couch, gazing at them intensely. It felt oddly like sitting before his parents, if Spencer’s parents had ever shown this much concern for him in their lives.

“Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do,” Ray said, breaking the silence. Spencer tensed, and he could see Brendon stiffening in alarm from the corner of his eye. “We’re going to talk to the school, and tell them about the bullying - we’re just going to talk about Jon, and about what you told us. It’ll be up to them and to Jon’s family and to you how they decide to act on it.”

“But it  _ is _ bullying, Bren,” Dallon added firmly, his eyes locked on Brendon’s. “We want you to know that. It’s bullying and it’s not okay, and it stops now.” 

“I’m gonna see what I can do for you at the counselling center, maybe look into one of the groups or something,” Lindsey added, voice gentle. “We want you to be okay, okay?” 

Brendon nodded very slowly. Spencer tried not to feel too guilty about seeing what was going on and not saying anything. In his defense, he had been dodging Jon and Ryan nearly as much as he’d been dodging everyone else, and for, apparently, good reason. He repressed a small shudder at the thought of Jon’s lips smashed against his, tongue forcing itself down his throat.

Lindsey caught the small movement, and turned towards him. “Spencer, do you want to tell them what you told me, or should I?” she asked kindly. Brendon and Dallon both perked up, seeming on high-alert as they turned towards him as well. 

“I, well, um,” Spencer started, catching Ray’s eye. The young man nodded encouragingly, and he knew that Lindsey had already told him what she knew. The fact that nothing he said would surprise him steeled his nerves. He swallowed hard before continuing. “Jon kept flirting with me and I wasn’t really into it, and then he… and then today he cornered me in the woods when I was vulnerable and he kissed me. And if I hadn’t gotten free,” a lump seemed to lodge itself in Spencer’s throat and he had to fight to get the words out, “if I hadn’t gotten free and run away and called Lindsey, I don’t think he would have stopped there.”

Brendon made a strange, protective sound and curled his hand into a fist. Spencer could hear the sharp intake of breath from Dallon, even all the way across the room. 

“And?” Lindsey coaxed, putting a hand into the pocket of her hoodie. Spencer nodded.

“And I relapsed at home, and my parents are… well, they’re really, really upset, and it was scary and I almost relapsed again at Lindsey’s and I’m just really not okay right now, I’m so sorry.” He didn’t mean to talk so much, but the words seemed to spill out of his mouth with no sign of stopping. When the final word left his mouth, he snapped it shut, eyes welling up with tears and dropping to his knees. 

“What kind of upset are your parents, Spence?” Dallon asked, voice straining around the words. 

“Basement,” he said quietly, pulling his feet up onto the couch and wrapping his arms around himself, trying to become as small as possible. “They wanted to put me back in the basement.”

“Shit,” Brendon breathed finally, squirming in his seat. “Can I hug you?” Spencer simply nodded in response, and was folded into a tight, warm hug by his best friend. 

“Okay, you’re coming home with me tonight,” Ray said, thinking quickly. “Jenna and Debby will sleepover at Lindsey’s, you two are both coming with me. We’ll figure out this whole thing with your parents in the morning, but I don’t like the way you said that.”

Spencer nodded slowly, and Dallon made a small noise of protest. “If they’re going to yours, I will too,” he said firmly, glancing at the pair still huddled together on the couch. “I’ll make sure they’re okay, and I’m the only one who can calm Brendon down, and Spencer needs someone besides Bren who can be there all night. I’m coming too.” 

Ray put up his hands defensively, a small grin growing on his face. “I’m not stopping you,” he smirked, running a hand through his curly hair. “Okay, guys, let’s get out of Pete’s basement before he gets back with his group of nerds. We’re ordering Chinese tonight.”

Spencer stood on shaky legs, and followed the others out of the basement. Brendon refused to let go of his hand, squeezing beside him in the backseat of Dallon’s car and pouting when anyone tried to protest. For the first time in a long time, he felt safe and comfortable. He felt like he was home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title from The Ballad of Mona Lisa


	15. i'll still say that you shine brighter than anyone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I update every other week? *sighs wistfully*
> 
> Three things: One, Gee's tumblr is supposed to be an ironic "lol scene kids" thing, not serious idk man it was the best I came up with that isn't a real tumblr url. Two, we jump to Hayley's POV (wow a pov outside of Ry, Bren, or Spence??) for this one. You'll see why in a second. Three, I literally just noticed we're over 125 kudos holy shit. Tysm guys I love all of ya'll!
> 
> Warnings: abuse mentions, referencing suicidal thoughts, Jon's antics in this fic, and I _think_ that's it but as always lmk if there's something I didn't mention.

Hayley’s left hand was curled into a fist at her side, her right hand rubbing steady circles onto Ryan’s back. She was going to  _ kill _ Jon Walker. 

“You’re okay,” she said instead, taking notice of her friend’s tense shoulders. Ryan relaxed ever-so-slightly, but kept his arms wrapped tightly around his waist and his eyes shut tightly. He shook his head, pressing his chin against his chest.

“Ryan, Ryan, listen to me,” she tried again, voice tight. 

Her heart pounded in her chest as the memory of his shaky voice played through her mind  _ “I deserve to die,” _ he’d said. She’d disagreed with him vehemently when he’d said it, and she still did, but looking at him in front of her now, she was terrified. After what he said about Jon, after hearing about the times he’d convinced her best friend to kiss him, to  _ fuck him _ , about all the times he’d said I love you and not meant it, about the blackmail and the subtle glares and the wearing him down until Ryan was convinced that Jon was the only one who cared about him, she understood why he’d thought that. 

“You are okay, you do not deserve to die, you are  _ okay, _ ” she chanted, pulling Ryan closer to her chest.

And then there was his father. Hayley had know that George Ross was not the greatest father in the world, and even that he had a habit of drinking too much. But never in a million years did she imagine that the nights Ryan begged her to sneak out and go to the park, or meet him at small, twenty-four hour coffee shop on campus stemmed from a fear of his home. She never imagined that a man she had met on several occasions throughout her life, a man who’d cooked at group barbecues and who she’d seen pushing Debby and Jenna on swingsets, who she’d watched cheering for Pete alongside the other parents at soccer games, could hurt his own son so badly in a drunken rage. Ryan turned his head to bury his face in her bare shoulder, fingers finally leaving his sides to tangle themselves in her tank top. She ran her fingers through his hair soothingly. She should have recognized the signs, she thought. She had grown up with Frank and with Jamia, she should have  _ known _ something was wrong. 

“I’m so sorry,” Ryan whimpered, pulling away. He swiped at his eyes, trying to hide his tears, though it was really too late for that. “I should go, I’m sorry for upsetting you.” He moved to leave, but Hayley caught his wrist and pulled him gently back to the couch, tucking a blanket back around him before getting up.

“I’ll be right back,” she said firmly, pointing her finger warningly. “You stay right there. I’m just getting a bag for your ankle.” She had seen the way he flinched when putting weight on it. It was as good an excuse as any to get some help.

Hayley slipped into the kitchen and pulled open the freezer drawer, pretending to rummage through it with one hand while the other fished her phone from her pocket. She opened the tumblr app and quickly pulled up Gerard’s tumblr. Sending a quick anonymous ask was the best she could do for the moment, but it was better than nothing. 

She puttered around in the kitchen for a couple of minutes, refreshing the blog a few times until Gerard replied, then read his answer quickly. 

 

**_Anonymous asked:_ ** _ ((tw suicide/abuse) My friend has been lowkey (and highkey) abused by his father and his boyfriend (friend with benefits? I’m not exactly sure) for a while, and he ended up at my house after coming out with less than stellar results. His bf/fwb has made him do some really terrible things, and he’s extremely suicidal as a combination of these things. Ik this is heavy af but you’re the only person I could think of to turn to, bc you have some experience in this stuff. What would you suggest I do? - a fren _

_ \-- _

**_xxxgerbearxxx replied:_ ** _ I’m guessing iku irl, because I don’t know how else you’d know I’m qualified to answer this. And honestly, I’m really not. The best advice I can give, based on past experiences is this: (under a read-more to keep from triggering anyone on accident) _

 

Hayley returned to the living room with a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a dishtowel. She helped Ryan prop his foot up on the coffee table, and held the bag over his ankle, which was swollen and red. She assumed it was from his father grabbing it and using it to pull him back into the house. 

“Jon’s gonna hurt you,” Ryan mumbled, looking up at Hayley with bloodshot eyes and a blotchy face. “If he finds out I hurt you, he’ll hurt you, bad, and I’d never forgive myself if he did.”

Hayley shook her head. “I’ll be fine,” she announced, coloring her voice with a confidence that she didn’t really have. “I’ve fought bigger fights than this little… thing with Jon. Besides, you know he already doesn’t like me, and I’m still here, aren’t I?” 

“This is different,” Ryan tried. He pressed the heel of his hand into his thigh and winced a little. Hayley took note of the action, but she decided to address it later. There were currently much bigger fish to fry. “This is him actively angry at you.”

“I can take him,” she informed him firmly. “But you can’t. Not like this.”

Ryan winced, looking like he regretted all of his life decisions - which Hayley thought was actually pretty likely at the moment. Or at least, the ones from the past couple of years. “Then what do you suppose I do? This isn’t some stupid action movie where there’s a training montage set to music until I get all big and strong.”

Hayley grinned at the sarcasm lacing his tone. Maybe he would be okay after all. “Was that a reference to Mulan?” she asked. Ryan shrugged, a small smirk on his face.

“Maybe,” he admitted.

“Nerd,” Hayley replied fondly. Her smile dropped and her face became more serious. “But no, actually. I was thinking of… of finding you an apartment away from your dad, maybe? Calling the cops if you want, but somehow I doubt you want that. Talking to… to the principal or the guidance counsellor or someone about what Jon’s been doing. Stuff like that. Getting someone, you know, on your side.”

Ryan’s eyes squeezed shut for a moment. “And if I agree?” he asked. “I’m dirt poor, Hayles, I can’t afford an apartment.”

“Then let me help you,” she said quickly, worrying her lower lip between her teeth.

“You’re sixteen, you can’t just… just move out and help me with rent and stuff,” Ryan pointed out, frowning protectively. “Your mom wouldn’t go for it, and I think your stepfather would kill me.”

“What if I was seventeen?” she asked, brain working. “It’s a little less… you know, questionable, and easier to get a job, and I could talk to my therapist about it. I could pitch it as good for me, a way to be more independent and less… less paranoid and scared and whatever. Plus, you know my mom loves you. If we just  _ told her _ what was going on, she’d help. And until then you can sleep on my couch. It’s only two months. Your dad doesn’t have to know a thing if you don’t want him to, alright?”

Ryan sighed, pressing his hands against his eyelids. “We’ll think about - about all of it. Right now, I just want to stay away from Jon and my dad, and just, like, breathe.”

Hayley nodded. “You can do that. You can stay here and I’ll talk to my parents as vaguely as possible. I have the pullout bed in my room you can sleep on.” Ryan still looked reluctant, ready protest. “You’re going to be okay, here. I won’t let anything happen to you, you know that.”

Ryan contemplated for a moment before nodding. He leaned his head back, sinking into the cushions of the couch. It didn’t take long before he fell asleep. Hayley brushed his hair out of his face and stood up, carrying her phone into the kitchen to call her mother. This would be an interesting conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Brighter by Paramore


	16. i've never been so surreptitious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS SO LATE I'M SORRY I AM A MESS HAPPY NEW YEAR THOUGH also this chapter has like, at least two different writing styles in it, so whoops. I'm The Most Inconsistent tbh.
> 
> Warnings for a little bit of self-hatred/deprecation, and because Brendon breaks down a little. Watch out ya'll

Brendon tucked his shaky hands under his thighs, smiling tightly at Ray as he tucked in the fresh sheets on the what was usually Debby and Jenna’s bed. Ray smiled back and tossed a pillow onto the bed, crossing his arms as he turned to the teenager sitting on his floor.

“Sorry you three will have to share,” he said with a small frown. “If someone gets uncomfortable, they can always go out to the couch… You good, Bren?” 

Brendon nodded quickly, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily. He was  _ fine _ , and even if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t let Ray see that. He wouldn’t let anyone see it - everyone was too worried about him, when they really needed to be worried about Spencer. The poor kid had been through so much worse than him. “I’m fine, Ray,” he grinned, flashing a quick thumbs up. “Go help Gerard set the table. I’ll be fine.” 

Ray looked unsure, but nodded anyway, leaving the room and headed for the small dining area near the front of the apartment. Brendon slid from the chair he was perched on, curling himself into a ball on the floor. He closed his eyes tightly and pressed his forehead into his knees. He couldn’t stop shaking, his small shoulders shivering harder than he thought was possible. He felt like his heart was being squeezed in his chest. He felt like everything had fallen apart - the secret he’d been keeping for so long had been exposed, and Spencer was even more broken than he’d been before rehab. 

“Bren, what’s wrong?” Brendon’s head shot up at the sound of Spencer’s voice, and he caught sight of the younger boy shifting awkwardly between his feet in the doorway. His dark hair was damp and stuck to his forehead, and his eyebrows were furrowed in concern. Brendon felt sick. Even Spencer felt bad for him, and he was in a much worse place than he was. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” Brendon assured him, trying to keep his voice from wavering at all. He winced as it cracked at the end, and Spencer slowly crossed the room and settled at his side.

“Do you want me to get Dallon?” Spencer’s own voice sounded wrecked. Brendon was pretty sure he’d been crying while he showered. 

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about me,” he assured Spencer, flashing the same tight, unconvincing smile he’d sent Ray earlier. 

Spencer frowned. “You look like you need to be worried about,” he said cautiously. He tentatively reached out to place a hand on Brendon’s knee. “You’re shaking. What’s wrong?” 

Brendon bristled, scooting away from Spencer and his worried eyes. “Nothing’s wrong, Spence. I’m fine, okay?” He didn’t notice his voice raising until he saw Spencer cowering away from him, an apology on the very tip of his tongue. His shoulders dropped, and he ducked his head. “Sorry.”

“I-It’s okay,” Spencer muttered. “We can be ‘fine’ together.”

Brendon could feel the air quotes around the word fine. Still, he nodded and shakily got to his feet, holding his hand out to the younger boy to help him up. Together, they made their way to the dining table. Their hands remained intertwined, but neither boy made any move to let go. Brendon felt like the second he dropped Spencer’s hand, he would fall apart again.

The table was set with containers of Chinese take out, a plate in front of each of the mismatched chairs. Lindsey ushered them to seats and pressed a kiss to the tops of their heads before disappearing into the kitchen, a small smile sent towards their interlocked hands. They both blushed, and Spencer let go slowly. Brendon flinched at the loss of contact. 

“You okay?” Dallon asked quietly as he dropped into the seat beside Brendon, reaching across the table with one long arm to grab the rice. Brendon scowled and nodded. He wished people would stop asking him. 

Dinner was too long. Brendon wanted nothing more than to escape to the bedroom and bury himself in blankets and pillows until the end of time. (Or at least until Spencer and Dallon came to bed.) Everyone was watching, staring at him in concern, like they were worried he was going to burst into tears or maybe explode - never mind that both of those felt like they were wholly plausible at the moment. Even Mikey had a worried crease in between his eyebrows and he watched Brendon and Spencer carefully. It was a general rule that Mikey was the last person who needed to be worried about anyone else.

After dinner there was a movie that Brendon tried to suffer through, really he did. He just wanted to disappear. Seeing Frank and Gerard curled up in the oversized, garage sale armchair, Mikey sprawled across the rickety loveseat with his feet on Ray’s lap, and Dallon and Spencer tucked into the couch beside him was just too much.  (Lindsey had gone home to help Debby and Jenna settle in while Alicia made them dinner) He had to escape. 

“Dal,” he muttered, leaning over to the tall boy sitting in the middle of the couch. His hand stilled where it was slowly combing through Spencer’s hair, and the younger boy looked up from where his head was just barely resting on his shoulder. “I’m tired.”

Dallon nodded, glancing towards Spencer and nodding towards the hallway. Spencer nodded quickly and sat up, letting Dallon stand and stretch with his arms high over his head. “We’re gonna head to bed, I think,” he announced to the room, smiling comfortingly at Gerard and his concerned stare. “These two had a really long day.”

“Yeah, I can hardly keep my eyes open,” Brendon added helpfully, giving an over exaggerated yawn and jumping to his feet. He could deal with just Spence and Dal. If they went to sleep quickly, he would be perfectly fine. 

(Fine to finally breakdown in the dark, alone, but no one else needed to know that. He didn’t even want to acknowledge it himself.)

Brendon was the last one to slip into the bedroom, closing the door carefully behind him. The sound of Dallong clearing his throat made him jump. “I can, uh, sleep on the floor?” the oldest boy offered, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. At first, Brendon was confused - they’d shared a bed plenty of times before - but then Dallon’s eyes flicked toward Spencer, and it all made sense. They didn’t want to make the boy uncomfortable. He already looked like he would be bowled over by a strong enough blast of air from the shitty air conditioner.

Spencer ducked his head and his dark, shaggy hair fell into his eyes. Brendon made a mental note to get Jamia to cut it for him soon. “It’s fine, I’ll take the floor,” he mumbled awkwardly, reaching for a pillow.

“No!” Brendon cried, his eyes widening. He snatched the pillow from Spencer’s hand and hugged it to his chest. “I’ve got the floor. You two share the bed.” 

“Bren, don’t,” Dallon pleaded, but had already Brendon plopped onto the floor and crossed his arms defiantly.

“I refuse to let either of you sleep on the floor,” he announced, wiggling on the ground for good measure. He raised his eyebrows up at the two boy in front of him, as if to say,  _ well? Your move. _

Spencer frowned, eyes slowly shifting between Brendon and Dallon. “What if we all share? Just for tonight, at least?” he asked quietly, biting so hard on his lower lip that Brendon winced, and half-expected to see blood.

“I don’t-” Dallon started, looking a little… well, to be frank, he looked almost  _ flustered. _ Brendon pursed his lips and glanced up at Dallon with big puppy-dog eyes, ones that he knew the older boy couldn’t soundly refuse. “Fine, okay, that works,” he conceded a moment later, turning and gesturing to the bed. 

Spencer grinned and sat down carefully, pulling his dirty white socks up his ankles and raising his eyebrow at Brendon. Brendon sighed internally. He supposed this meant he couldn’t break down after all. (Not that he wanted to, but now he was putting it off, which meant it would build, and  _ fuck _ , now he was crying.)

With a start, Brendon pulled himself to his feet, wiping at his eyes quickly and ignoring the confused, worried looks in his friends’ eyes. “I call the inside!” he announced, throwing himself onto the bed and bouncing into place against the wall. He kicked off his socks with a flourish. “Well, boys? You gonna join me or what?” He patted the spot beside him pointedly as he burrowed under the blankets, and if his voice was a little choked up, no one said anything.

Spencer blushed, and crawled under the blankets, curling up beside Brendon. Dallon flipped off the light and stumbled through the room, peering through the dim light from the streetlamp through the curtains. He climbed into the bed beside Spencer, shifting himself until he was laying on his side, facing the other two. Brendon was also on his side, nose just barely grazing Spencer’s shoulder, and the youngest boy lay flat on his back between them.

“Good night Beeb. Goodnight, Spence,” Dallon whispered into the dark. 

Spencer replied with a quiet “good night,” but Brendon only hummed in response. He hadn’t realized how tired he was until he was in bed, safely tucked away under the covers beside two of the people he cared about most in the world. A bruise on his side twinged a bit from the pressure of laying on it, but he ignored it. That was something that Morning Brendon could worry about. For now, he slowly drifted off to sleep, the familiar, musky scent of Spencer’s cologne ushering him further towards the land of dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "There's A Good Reason These Tables Are Numbered Honey. You Just Haven't Thought Of It Yet." which like, as far as song titles go, is frankly unecessary


	17. smile even though you're sad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today in Hanna can't keep up with her fics...  
> Sorry it's been so long guys, really. I had a little bit of writer's block with this fic, and I'm sorry for that. This chapter is not the best, because I was writing at like midnight and distracted by binge watching Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, but I knew we needed an update so here we are.
> 
> Also if you're interested, I posted a Breezy/Sarah not-really-shippy fic in this series like a month ago, if you missed that. 
> 
> Warnings for panic attacks and self harm. Also mentions of Spencer's shitty parents. And bad writing.

Spencer’s woke up with his hair in his eyes, Brendon and Dallon’s arms around his waist, and tears covering his face. He took a deep breath, swallowing at the lump in his throat. The feeling of the two boys on either side of him was equal parts comforting and suffocating, their arms wrapped almost too tightly around him.

The more he thought about it, the more he felt like he was being squished, and none of the air he sucked in was reaching his lungs. He squirmed uncomfortably, desperate to get away from them, but Brendon was like a boa constrictor - the more he moved, the tighter his grip got. A desperate sob worked it’s way out of Spencer’s throat, and suddenly Dallon bolted upright, looking around wildly for the source of the sound.

His eyes landed on Spencer and widened at the shine of tears on his cheeks. “Spence? You okay?” he asked quietly, furrowing his eyebrows in worry.

“D-Dal,” he stuttered, biting hard on his lower lip for a moment to hold back another sob. “Can’t breathe.”

“Shit, shit okay,” the older boy replied, frowning at Brendon’s arms wrapped tightly around the youngest’s waist. Spencer failed to keep back the next sob, and Dallon looked panicked. “Sh, Spin, it’ll be okay, it’s okay, let’s get you up first, huh?”

Somehow he managed to wrestle him from the sleeping boy’s gasp, pulling him upright before he released him. Spencer slid off the bed and into the middle of the floor, wrapping his arms around himself as he struggled to breathe. “I’m sorry,” he gasped, squeezing his eyes shut. His father’s face leered back at him from behind his eyelids. “I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry, please don’t hate me.”

Dallon’s own face crumpled as he watched Spencer rocking in place. “I’m not gonna yell at you, Spencer, honey, I’m not your parents.”

Spencer’s eyes snapped open. “No, no, no, they never, they never, Dallon, no,” he managed, biting hard on his lower lip. He could feel more panic filling his chest, and he wasn’t even sure how that was possible. “Don’t overreact, please don’t, I’m sorry.”

“Spencer, please, please calm down, come on, baby, breathe with me,” Dallon tried. Spencer tried to focus on his breathing. He could feel his heartbeat slowly returning to normal, though his hands still shook and a few cold tendrils of panic still gripped his chest.

“Is he okay?” Brendon’s small voice broke through the fog that seemed to fill Spencer’s head. He managed to look at the pair on the bed, letting his bangs fall in front of his eyes. With a start he realized they were damp with sweat.

Dallon was sitting on the edge of the bed, hands half-raised as if he was about to slide forward and scoop Spencer into his arms. Something in his wide eyes was worried and desperate and maybe a little bit terrified. Brendon sat just behind him on his knees, looking adorably sleep-ruffled and his eyebrows drawn together in worry. He had his fingers curled into Dallon’s shirt and was peering over his shoulder, the fear clear on his face.

“I don’t know, Bren,” Dallon whispered, clearly trying to keep Spencer from overhearing. “Just give him some space, okay?”

Spencer let out another sob, and curled into himself. Suddenly he felt  _ too _ alone. He hated this, hated how he went from one thing to another so quickly. This didn’t happen when he had Xanax to rely on, he thought wrily. The thought almost made him laugh.

“Hug me,” he begged with wild eyes, pressing the tips of his fingers into his arms - but not digging his nails in. Never digging his nails in. That wasn’t allowed because… why wasn’t it allowed again? 

His fingernails dug deep into his arms, leaving deep crescents in his biceps. “Help,” he gasped. Brendon rocketed off the bed, pulling Spencer into his arms in the same movement and pressing a gentle kiss to his face. He made sounds that Spencer thought were supposed to be soothing, gently encouraging the youngest boy to curl into his chest.

Dallon slid off the bed much more slowly, settling beside them and carefully prying Spencer’s nails out of his arms. He made a strangled sound, so Spencer knew he’d managed to draw blood. Guilt weighed heavily on his heart, but the panic was slowly ebbing away with Brendon’s shushing, so he was reluctant to move away. Lifting his head slightly from where it was pressed against Brendon’s chest, he watched Dallon quietly pull himself to his feet and leave the room.

“Where’s D-Dallon g-g-going?” he managed, and Brendon pulled away just enough to look down at his round face. He smiled encouragingly and pressed another kiss to Spencer’s forehead.

“He’s just getting some things,” he promised. “He’ll be back. You’re okay.”

Somehow, between Brendon’s reassurance and Spencer’s constant mental chanting of  _ “calm down calm down calm down” _ he managed to return his breathing to normal. Brendon gently released him, keeping one steady hand on his back and was now eyeing the blood on his arms in concern.

“Babe, this is pretty bad,” he said quietly. Spencer felt a strange warm, fluttery  _ something _ flooding his limbs at the pet name, but he ignored it for now, to be reflected upon at a later time. Instead he shrugged, looking down at the now drying blood spots on his arm.

“I know,” he mumbled, a flush creeping up his cheeks in embarrassment. “I’m not supposed to do that. I didn’t mean to.”

Brendon worried his lower lip between his teeth. “I don’t want to say it’s okay but,” he started, but before he could finish, Dallon slipped back into the bedroom, carrying a water bottle, a cloth, and a first aid kid. The relief on the oldest boy’s face was almost palpable when he saw that Spencer was breathing normally, and once again Spencer felt sick with guilt for worrying them.

“Drink this,” he said quietly, handing over the water bottle. He sat on the other side of Spencer, and began carefully wiping the dried blood on off of his arm. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, carefully focused on Spencer’s arm.

Spencer shrugged, taking a long sip of the water gratefully. He wasn’t used to talking about his feelings anymore. His parents tended to ignore his meltdowns, only acknowledging them insofar as to tell him to toughen up or to stop acting like a child. When he’d hung around Brendon and the others, he’d talked about his feelings, sure, because their group never seemed to do anything else. But it wasn’t like he was  _ forced _ to say anything, and he’d always avoided it as much as possible. Clearly, that hadn’t gone so well in the end, but it had been how he’d operated for a long time before then.

“You know we aren’t gonna get mad at you for having a panic attack, right Spencer?” Dallon tried, clearly attempting to get him to talk. “We just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” he managed with a weak smile. Dallon and Brendon shared a glance and looked unconvinced. 

Somehow, Spencer knew that none of them would be able to fall asleep after this. Once Dallon had him patched up to his satisfaction, the three of them slipped back out into the living room, turning on the television to Disney channel with the volume on low. The settled back onto the couch, and Spencer prepared himself for the inevitable heartfelt conversation that was soon to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Death of a Bachelor


	18. my touch is black and poisonous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is super short, and I'm sorry about that. But on the brightside - Ryan angst? Also. If you can't tell I don't have all that much of an idea about abuse investigations or anything like that, so I kind of...glossed over the station visit. Sorry?

Ryan was huddled on the pull out couch in Hayley’s room, the one that was usually reserved for her cousins’ visits. The orange-haired girl eyed him warily from across the room, knees pulled up and tucked under her chin as she perched on her desk chair. 

“Mom wants to file a report today,” she said gently, eying the way that Ryan’s shoulders seemed to curl even more in on themselves. “About your dad. Since Dad works for Social Services, she thinks it might be easy to, you know, get custody of you.”

The wide-eyed stare she received in response made her falter. “Only if you want to,” she clarified quickly. “But it might be best if you did.”

“Okay,” Ryan said quietly, pressing his palms against the tops of his thighs. He nodded once quickly, carefully uncurling himself and forcing himself to sit properly. “Okay.”

A small smile spread across Hayley’s face. She dropped her feet to the floor, stretching her arms above her head as she stood up. “Excellent,” she said, voice still exceedingly gentle. “You get ready. I’ll be downstairs - Mom’ll want to leave soon.”

Ryan watched her go and turned to his bag, where the spare clothes he’d brought with him were carefully folded on top. He put on the sweater and jeans painstakingly slowly, pulling himself to his feet. He slowly made his way down the stairs, smiling awkwardly at Hayley’s sisters as he passed where they were playing a board game on the kitchen table. 

Hayley and her mother were waiting for him in the foyer, holding one of Mr. Williams’ coats for him to pull on over his sweater. Mrs. Williams offered Ryan a small smile, concern in her eyes.

“I’m glad you decided to do this, Ryan,” she said kindly as she locked the door behind the three of them, ushering the two teenagers to the car. “It’s really for the best.”

Ryan tried to keep himself from bristling at her words. She was right, he knew. “I just want it to be over,” he said instead. He wasn’t entirely sure what  _ it _ meant - maybe this thing with his father, maybe everything with Jon, or maybe just his life.

“I know, darling,” she said warmly, slamming the car door.

* * *

Their time at the police station seemed to be a blur of questions and paperwork. They took pictures of the bruises on his ankle and his chest, and transferred over pictures from Hayley and Ryan’s phones displaying various others. He vaguely remembered giving the names of their neighbors to talk to about various noise complaints, and the decision that until anything else could be determined he would remain with the Williams family. The relief that seemed to fill his body as he was released into Hayley’s arms, burying his face into her shoulder at the prospect of leaving the skeptical gazes of the police officers.

Hayley led him out of the station, leaving her mother to talk to the officers some more. They wandered down the street, Ryan’s shoulders hunched and the hood of his borrowed jacket pulled over his head. 

Suddenly he stopped walking, his eyes narrowed as he examined the scuffed toes of his Converse. “I’m sorry, Hayles,” he muttered.

The short girl whipped around, a frown etched onto her face. “Sorry for what?” she asked slowly. 

“For all of this,” he explained, waving his hands in an attempt to clarify it. “I just. You know what, forget it.” He shuffled forward, ducking his head back down and blinking rogue tears out of his eyes. 

“Ry, no,” she said firmly, grabbing his arm. “No, stop. Do you think is your fault?” 

Ryan shrugged awkwardly, tugging on the hem of his sweatshirt. “I don’t know, maybe,” he started. Hayley’s eyes searched his own, and he cleared his throat and looked away. “Yeah, fine, okay, it’s all my fault. Everything with Jon, everything with my dad,  _ everything _ , is my fault.”

With a start, he realized he was crying, the tears soaking his face and freezing against his skin. Ryan wiped at them bitterly, lips pursed angrily. He jumped at the hand Hayley put on his shoulder.

“Jon is an asshole and you were a victim,” she said firmly, shakily. “Your dad is an asshole who is taking his anger out on you and that is  _ not your fault _ .” 

There was some level of fear and alarm in her eyes. Ryan could feel himself shaking. He’d never scared Hayley before. “I have to go,” he mumbled, turning on his heel and running, ignoring Hayley calling his name behind him. 

It was the only thing he was good at anymore. Everything he touched got ruined. He couldn’t ruin Hayley too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Victorious


	19. NOT A CHAPTER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quick life update, please read

OKAY SO Basically my laptop is Very Broken, and I can't make it work. We've tried everything but between finals and AP exams and EOCs and my SAT it's gonna be put off for at least a couple of weeks before we can get it repaired or get a new one. I'm typing this on my phone right now and I have to go to the public library to work on classwork ha.

I /promise/ I'm not abandoning this fic. I'll be back soon okay? I'm so so so sorry guys.

 

Love y'all so much! Thank you for understanding! <3 <3


	20. the stove is creeping up his spine again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys sorry for the wait! this chapter is painfully short because I haven't written anything for the bandom in forever, so I'm trying to get back into the swing of it. I just felt like I needed to post _something._ Also there's a cliffhanger but that should be sorted out in like a week or so. I promise.

Brendon curled up in the corner of the couch, watching Spencer as the shadows danced across his face. He and Dallon had fallen asleep hours ago but he was still wide awake, watching them for any signs of nightmares. Spencer’s brow was furrowed in an adorable though worrying way, but that seemed to be the worst of it. Still, something kept Brendon awake.

Light was coming through the curtains that were pulled over the glass door that led to the balcony, and that was how Brendon knew that Ray would be up soon. He never slept late, even when he was a kid. It worried Gerard and Frank and Mikey, he knew, because Ray’s sleeping got especially bad when he was stressed out. Luckily, it didn’t appear to be at that point yet.

With a soft sigh, he carefully detangled himself from the bodies tangled on the couch, walking into the kitchen. If he wasn’t gonna be able to sleep, he might as well start some coffee for when Ray stumbled out. It was only polite, a way of thanking him for letting them crash at the apartment.

The coffee machine was similar enough to the one he had at home, and he was able to start the coffee brewing in a couple of minutes. He jumped up onto the counter, swinging his legs and eying the pictures stuck to the side of the fridge while he waited. Because he wasn’t looking, he nearly kicked Ray in the leg, but the man jumped out of the way just in time.

“You’re up early,” Ray mused, grabbing two coffee cups from the cupboard before bending down to hunt for a skillet. “Sleep okay? I saw Spencer and Dal in the living room.”

Brendon shrugged. “Reruns of Liv and Maddie kept me awake, I guess,” he said, ducking his head so Ray could reach behind him for the baking powder.

“It’s not a very good show,” Ray mused, “but it is addicting.” He paused to survey his ingredients for pancakes, and shoved the eggs to Brendon. “Make yourself useful, we’ve got a lot of people to feed.”

Sliding off the counter and landing on his socked feet was easy, and Brendon set about making scrambled eggs. Ray watched him whisk together the eggs and a splash of milk before he spoke again, flipping a pancake to seem more casual.

“I’m going to talk to Jon’s parents today,” he said. Brendon froze, nearly dropping the spatula in his hand.

“Why would you do that?” he asked, eyes wide.

“He’s been messing with you for ages, he assaulted Spencer, and I’m starting to think maybe there’s more to this whole Ryan thing than it appears,” Ray replied simply. “They should know that we’re going to take action. You don’t have to go of course,” he added at Brendon’s fearful, wide-eyed stare. 

Brendon turned back to his eggs, hurrying to move them around before they could burn. “You don’t have to,” he said with a blush.

Ray rolled his eyes but didn’t reply, as Mikey chose that moment to stumble into the kitchen, rubbing sleepily at his eyes. “Coffee?” he asked. Brendon waved him towards the now full pot of coffee.

Talking to Jon’s parents was a bad idea. Brendon could feel it in his bones. But Ray had decided that was what had to be done, and if Ray decided that, then it would happen. 

Just as Gerard stumbled into the room just Brendon was turning off the burner he used for the eggs. Mikey had been thoughtful enough to line up plates across the counter, so he carefully scooped the same amount onto each plate and put the skillet into sink to clean once it cooled down. He began putting two pancakes onto each plate from the stack by Ray’s elbow, waiting impatiently when he got to the bottom of the stack.

“We’re feeding a small army,” Brendon complained. 

“The more the merrier,” Ray countered.

Breakfast was a strangely silent affair, even with seven of them squeezed around the four person dining table. Spencer squeezed onto the chair with Brendon and Dallon sat beside them, looking a little protective. Brendon wondered what he would do when he had to leave for work. He couldn’t just skip, not after already missing so much in the past month to deal with Brendon’s various problems. 

Apparently, the solution was to leave Brendon and Spencer at the apartment under firm instruction to stay inside. Ray and Dallon were the last to leave, apparently reluctant to leave them alone.

“I shouldn’t be gone more than an hour,” Ray said, frowning at them. “Don’t hesitate to call if you need me.” He slipped out the door to give them a minute alone with Dallon.

The older boy gave them each a tight hug. “You’ll be okay,” he said, sounding more like he was telling himself than telling them. “I gave you my roommate’s number, and Pete and Lindsey both have the day off, so if Ray gets held up, one of them will be here ASAP.” 

Spencer nodded, looking scared. Brendon had the strangest urge to hug him, but resisted. Instead he carefully patted the younger boy’s arm, smiling in satisfaction when Spencer seemed to shift closer to him.

Dallon kissed them both on the top of their heads, which was admittedly unexpected, before running out of the apartment in embarrassment. Brendon blinked after him as he heard the lock click in the door, then turned to stare at Spencer in surprise. He could feel his cheeks heating up, and ducked his head to hide it.

“Bren?” Spencer said quietly, shuffling so that he could face Brendon a little better. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” Brendon replied, opening his arms for a hug. Spencer curled into them and buried his face into the older boy’s shoulder for a few moments. Just when Brendon thought he’d fallen asleep again, Spencer looked up with hollow eyes and opened his mouth to speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title from Mad as Rabbits


End file.
